After he had made his toilet—not a very elaborate one—Mr. Tucker went up-stairs to arouse his young prisoner. He found the key in the outside of the door. Everything seemed right.
“I wonder how he feels this morning?” chuckled Mr. Tucker. “Wonder whether he’s tamed down a little?”
He turned the key in the lock and threw open the door. He glanced at the bed, started in amazement to find that it had not been slept in, and then his wonder ceased, for the telltale rope explained how the boy had escaped.
He ran down-stairs in anger and excitement.
“What’s the matter with you, Joe Tucker?” demanded his wife. “Are you drunk or crazy?”
“Enough to make me both, wife,” he answered. “The boy’s gone!”
“Gone!” exclaimed Mrs. Tucker, stopping short, with a saucepan in her hand.
“Gone!” ejaculated Zeke, his mouth wide open.
“I don’t believe it,” said Mrs. Tucker positively. “He couldn’t go. He’d have to jump out of the third-story window.”
“Sure enough!” said Zeke.