"You'll jump too when your turn comes," prophesied Frank. "You'll think the lid has been taken off of the infernal regions."
The prophecy was verified, for though there was no danger, since the gas had been vastly diluted, yet the odor was so vile and the death it suggested was so horrible that they could not get away from it quickly enough.
"It's like passing close to a rattlesnake whose fangs have been drawn," commented Frank. "You might know that he couldn't kill you, but if he struck at you you'd jump instinctively, just because he was a rattlesnake."
"Some perfume that," remarked Billy with an expression of dire disgust.
"New-mown hay—I don't think," growled Bart, sneezing as though he would shake his head loose from his shoulders. "I got a bigger dose than the rest of you slackers," he added with an air of superior virtue.
"Martyr to duty," mocked Frank. "But we're not through yet, fellows. The worst is yet to come."
"Nothing can be worse," grumbled Fatty Bates, with profound conviction.
"Oh, yes, it can," said Billy, assuming the role of Job's comforter. "We've got to go inside that Chamber of Horrors and stay there five minutes by the clock."
"Will we come out on our feet or be carried out?" asked Fatty Bates with a worried expression.
"You'll never be carried out, Fatty," chaffed Billy. "It would take the whole regiment to do that. It'll be a crane and derrick for you sure."