The very moment after he had fallen asleep, it seemed to Swipes, Shorts was pulling him out of bed, and the room was full of smoke. Spuddy was sleeping in the next chamber, and the first sound came to him in a haze-like dream. He thought he heard a roar of thunder, and rain descending upon the roof. Never mind. He was safe in bed, and had just escaped expulsion from his fraternity. As he rubbed his aching head, a dazed resolution took form in his brain. He would never get drunk again—never—never! Then the fumes of the wine brought visions of bright-colored dresses, of pretty faces and tender loving arms, such as his father had told him to beware of. He would toss such joys from him, if it brought him—Spuddy groaned, turned in bed, and tried to wake up. But to wake up was to realize his disgrace. He groaned again, a sharp pain ripping through his head. He heard the sound of voices—he was dreaming, of course; the wine floated fantastic visions again through his misty brain, relieving it of the effort of thinking. Then Shorts' voice rang in his ear.
"For the love of God, Spud, get up! The house is on fire, and we're boxed in this cupola like rats in a trap."
Spuddy sprang out of bed. The thunder he had dreamed of was the roar of the fire in the walls of the great house. The rain descending on the roof was the water being thrown from the long fire-hose. A strong stream of ice-cold water suddenly broke the window, driving Swipes against the wall. He whimpered drunkenly.
"Plagued fire! 'Course the house had to burn down on a night like this!"
Screams and cries from the crazed mob below came up to the boys through the broken pane. The water ceased its flow, and Shorts, the most sober of the three, crept to the opening. Spuddy had crawled back to bed. Far beneath him, Shorts could see his fraternity brothers running wildly to and fro, frantically waving their arms to him. He could hear orders given in loud tones, and recognized the voices of Frederick Graves and Dan Jordan. It all flashed upon Shorts in a moment how greatly he and his chums were to blame for the disaster, for the fire must have started in the dining-room. He thrust his head through the lurid gleam to attract attention, and saw the men and boys in the yard bringing ladders to rescue them. Now they were splicing them together, to make it possible to reach the great height. Shorts made quick resolves.... If he lived.... He turned with a groan, and dragged Spuddy from the bed to the open window.
"Stay there, and be ready, if you don't want to die," he commanded curtly.
Shorts saw the ladder rear upward, and a form dart from the shadows. Dan Jordan was coming, hand over hand, toward him, the long ladder creaking under his weight. Jordan's face appeared at the opening.
"Come out here," he commanded Shorts.
Shorts pushed Spuddy forward.