Even the rank of “major” did not appeal to the jailer, for he only grunted, and turned on his heel.
“Looks like a night of it, Henri.”
“And there will be a morning of it, too,” predicted Henri.
“‘We won’t go home until morning,’” warbled Billy.
“Oh, what’s the use? You have quit being human.”
Failing to turn his friend from his waggish way, Henri rolled over on the straw mattress and went to sleep. Billy followed suit.
They were awakened by the clang of a bolt, and sprang to sitting position, rubbing their eyes.
The jailer, with a lantern swung to his arm like a railway conductor, was framed in the cell door. A pair of horn spectacles glistened over his shoulder.
“Glory be! It’s Herr Roque!”
Billy was not bluffing now. He was glad enough to see this able protector.