“Can’t we do something?” asked Lucy Poole, one of the guests.
“Yes, we must help,” added Grace Watson.
“I think perhaps it will be best if you remain here,” said Mr. Howbridge. “I don’t imagine anything very much out of the ordinary has happened, from what I know of the family,” he said with a smile. “I’ll go and see, and if any more help is needed I shall let you young ladies know. Unless it is, the fewer on the scene the better, perhaps.”
“Especially if any one is hurt,” murmured Clo Baker. “I never could stand the sight of a child hurt.”
“They don’t seem to have lost their voices, at any rate,” remarked Lucy. “Listen:”
As Mr. Howbridge followed Agnes and Ruth from the room, there was borne to the ears of the assembled guests a cry of:
“Let me down! Do you hear, Sammy Pinkney! Let me down!”
And a voice, undoubtedly that of the Sammy in question, answered:
“I’m not doing anything! I can’t get you down! It’s Billy Bumps. He did it!”
“Two boys in mischief,” murmured Lucy.