“Don’t you wish you were going home, Richards?” said Ned Smith. He is one of those fellows who are always saying things they ought not to, though not meaning to be hateful. He’d do no end of things for a fellow who was sick, and then like as not tell him something that would make him sicker than ever. So he couldn’t think of anything better to say than to ask little Richards if he didn’t wish he was going home.
“Why, yes,” said Bob, in the bright, quick way he had with him; “why, yes, of course I wish I was going home, but if I can’t I can’t, so there’s an end to it. Besides I’m going home next summer; it’ll only be twenty-five weeks.”
Just to think of his speaking of it in that chipper way, as if he’d said twenty-five minutes instead of weeks.
The packing was all done after a while, and we were ready for an early start next morning. We had eaten our last supper, beef-steak and fried potatoes—we always have a sort of extra good supper the last night of the term. Then after supper we had a good time in Mrs. Thomas’ own room, with her two babies and her cousin who played the piano for us, and by ten o’clock we were all in our rooms and the house got still.
It was eleven o’clock when we heard three mews and a scratch like a cat, which was Jeff Ryder’s signal; he could have opened the door and come in just as well, but he was always very fond of giving all kinds of signs.
We opened the door and there were Hal Thorndike and the two Everett boys and Jeff. Will and I had a room alone. We came out and joined them and went up stairs trying to keep still, though Will would giggle, and he and Jeff had a scuffle on the landing about which should go in and get Bob out of bed.
At last Harry Thorndike settled it by telling them both to go. They had masks that Jeff and I made of black cloth with holes cut through for the eyes and mouth.
So they went in and waked up Bob, and said in a horrid, scarey sort of way, “Unhappy mortal! prepare to suffer your doom! Arise and proceed to the hall of judgment!”
He wasn’t more than half awake, but he was clear pluck, and he came out shivering with cold and with a blanket round his shoulders.
The boys had blindfolded him, and they led him round and round till he was pretty well mixed up, and then they took him to the Hall of Judgment, which was Harry Thorndike’s room.