“Here, don’t be such a jolly old stupid, making Kunchinjingas out of pimples. Here, I know what I’ll do. Of course we couldn’t get to old Wrench’s place. He sleeps in a turn-up bed in his pantry, I believe. I’d soon turn him down, if I could,” cried Glyn, as he poured the contents of his jug into the basin.
“But you had an idea,” said Singh.
Bubble, bubble, bubble, bubble, came from the basin as the boy thrust in his face.
Singh uttered a sound like a snarl.
“Wait till I get my towel,” gasped Glyn as he raised his face for a moment, and directly after—sounding half-smothered in huckaback, and coming in spasmodic jerks—the boy panted out, “I guess it’s about four o’clock now. I’ll—I’ll go down and make—believe it’s six, and ring the big bell. That’ll make old Wrench come tumbling out in a fright.”
“Ah, to be sure; now you are talking sense. Capital! Make haste.”
“Well, I am making haste.”
“Oh, Glyn, old chap,” cried Singh piteously, “don’t, pray don’t, begin making fun of it all again. I feel just as if I am to blame for all the mischief that great beast has done and is going to do. He’ll obey me, and as soon as I am dressed I am going down to talk to him and try and keep him quiet while you rouse up Wrench.”
“Rouse up Wrench!” said Glyn laughing. “Why, it’ll rouse up the whole school. Only that I know that the fellows won’t be in any hurry to get up, I should be afraid that they would come scrambling out into the playground, and we should have the great monster picking the little ones up one at a time and taking them like pills.”
“Oh, there you go again,” cried Singh piteously.