“Stump—stump; stump—stump; stump—stump,” went Harry down the hall; and “stump—stump; stump—stump; stump—stump,” he went back again, with a face beaming with satisfaction, but so intent upon what he was doing, that his forehead came sharply into collision with the swing lamp, and made the glass, and Harry’s teeth as well, chatter quite sharply.
“Bother the stupid things,” said Harry; “I wish they would not have such things in the hall.”
Philip stood on the mat and grinned.
“Stump—stump; stump—stump; stump—stump,” went Harry again, but keeping well clear of obstructions this time.
“Whatever is that noise?” said Mrs Inglis, listening to the stumping of the stilts; but taking no further notice, for she was making the tea, while Mr Inglis was looking over the contents of a newspaper which had just come in by post.
“Stump—stump” went the stilts, while Fred had slipped out of the breakfast-room to see what was going on, and now stood in the doorway making a sort of silent echo of Philip’s grin.
“Stump—stump; stump—stump; crish—crash—dangle,” said the stilts, the lamp, and Harry’s head.
“Whatever are those boys doing?” said Mr Inglis, jumping up and going to the door, closely followed by Mrs Inglis, and just as the young dog was stumping back after knocking his head against the swing lamp.
Mr and Mrs Inglis had better have stopped in the room, for no sooner did Harry see his father’s face issue from the door, than he let go of the stilts, and one fell in one direction, and one in the other. Stilt number one fell to the right, crash into the flower-stand, and chopped some of the best branches off the fuchsias; while stilt number two—oh! unlucky stick!—went crash down upon the great antique vase that stood in the hall upon a pedestal, knocked it off, and there it lay, shivered upon the marble floor.
Harry looked for a moment at his father, then at the vase, and then at the door and rushing out of it as hard as he could, was gone in a moment.