Julian just ignored him. That went without saying.
"We'll slip out after dark, see, when everything's quiet. We'll meet here under the tree. I'll be spending the night at the Blakes so I can get here fast, and you guys will have your bikes...."
Busily and happily he laid his plans, and soon his companions were infected with his enthusiasm; even Tom.
"We'll bring some blankets in case we get sleepy," Julian said.
"And some food in case we get hungry," Tom added.
"And an alarm clock to wake us up in time to go home before they miss us. I'll bring it," Joe volunteered.
Thursday came: fine and clear and very warm. Julian smuggled three blankets into Judge Chater's house. He had also brought a bottle of Mrs. Cheever's A.P. Decoction because at night the mosquitoes were apt to be bad. He crawled cautiously up the rickety stairs that swayed and swagged beneath his feet. Reconnoitering, the day before, he had found that there was a fairly sound room on the second floor not quite so littered and ruined as the rest. Besides, though he scarcely admitted it to himself, to be upstairs seemed somehow—safer.
Now in the broad light of day even the hint of such a thought appeared ridiculous. Sunshine blazed beyond the broken windows; flies buzzed in and out. Everything looked perfectly ordinary and cheerful, however shabby.
"Nothing to it," Julian remarked aloud, sweeping fallen plaster aside with his foot and clearing a space to spread the blankets on.
"Hey, Jule," called Tom's voice below stairs. "Where are you anyway?"