Jarvis was the first to extricate himself. He leaped to his feet and began dancing about, howling lustily.
"What kind of a game is this that you've put me up against?" he yelled.
The boy, with arms and legs wrapped around the guy wire, had shot down from the top of the stove. He was angry all through, more angry than scared or even hurt.
"What kind of a game is it, I say?"
Rush and Pig-Iron were too busy picking themselves up from the floor where Jarvis's bump had landed them, to make reply.
"What's the matter with you fellows? Did I bowl you over? Well, it serves you right if I did."
"Bob," laughed Steve getting to his feet, "I knew nothing could do you up. You're too tough to be very badly hurt. What happened to you up there?"
"That's what I've come down here to find out. What happened down here? Was it an earthquake, or something of the sort?"
"Something like that. Mr. Peel called it a hang-over up at your end."
"Hang-over? Pshaw! It was a fall-over, so far as I was concerned."