"Right dis way, sah," begged the bell-boy, stepping out of the elevator ahead of them at the third floor.
He led them down a long corridor, turned into another corridor, then halted before a door. That bell-boy gave three distinct knocks; a pause, then two more knocks.
"I reckon yo' can go right in, sah," announced the bell-boy, dropping some of his burden in order to throw the door open.
Utterly unsuspicious, Tom and Joe passed through the doorway. The instant they had done so, the bell-boy tossed their bags and coats in after them, yanked the door shut and fled, chuckling.
"Here they come! Welcome!" roared Dick Davis's deep, hearty voice.
A short hallway led from the door to the room proper. As Tom Halstead passed over the inner threshold a pair of arms reached out from either side, yanking him into the room out of Joe's sight. Dawson leaped after his chum, only to be similarly seized.
Then it snowed! At least, for a brief instant, that was what the victims thought.
Tom was neatly, ruthlessly tripped, being sent sprawling to the floor, while Ab Perkins, snatching up a bolster, which he had ripped open, shook all the fine, downy feathers over him. They sifted down the young captain's neck; they obscured his vision; some of the small feathers fell into his mouth. He fell to spitting them out with vigor, even before he tried to get up.
Nor did Joe Dawson fare any better. If anything, he was rather more roughly handled by Jed Prentiss and Jeff Randolph.
"Now, roll 'em!" roared Dick Davis.