"Now they can't get in unless they break in," said Dick grimly, "and I doubt if they'll dare to do that."
"Say, maybe I'm not wet," remarked Sam, surveying his dripping shirt.
"Never mind; we sent as good as we got, and more," answered Tom with a grin. "Let us put on our coats so we don't catch cold. No use of putting on dry clothing until you are sure the ball is over."
"Tom, you're a crack fireman," said Dick with a smile. "I'll wager those sophs are mad enough to chew nails."
"What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander," quoted the fun-loving Rover. "What's the good of living if you can't return a compliment now and then?"
For several minutes all was silent outside. Then came a light knock on the door. Dick held his hand up for silence and the knock was repeated.
"Don't answer them," whispered the oldest Rover.
"Say, I want to talk to you fellows," came in low tones. "This is important."
"Who are you?" asked Dick after a pause.
"I'm Larkspur—Bart Larkspur, I want to tell you something."