“I know where there’s a ladder,” he said.
“One we could get?”
“You couldn’t. I could.”
“Get it for me, then, there’s a good fellow.”
“Ha, ha! Oh, I say; arn’t you getting jolly civil!”
“Hush!” whispered Sam excitedly. “Don’t make that noise. Some one will hear.”
“Yah! There’s no one to hear! The old man’s gone out, and old Mother Fidler’s fast asleep, and snoring by this time.”
“But there’s he,” whispered Sam.
“What, young Tom Blount? Yah! Not him: he won’t come.”
“Where’s the ladder?” whispered Sam, in agony.