With this Stubby bowed low and retreated toward the door, which suddenly opened to admit old Dan'l the fiddler, who was thrust in so violently that his body collided with that of Stubby and nearly knocked him over.
"That's all right," laughed the remittance man, recovering from the shock. "You mustn't escape, you know, Dan'l, for we depend on you for the music."
He closed the door as he went out and they all heard a bolt shoot into place. Yet the broad window, scarcely six feet from the ground, stood wide open to admit the air.
Dan'l stood in the middle of the room, motionless for a moment. Then he raised his wrinkled face and clinched his fists, shaking them in the direction of the living-room.
"Me!" he muttered; "me play for dese monkeys to dance—me! a maestro—a composer—a artiste! No; I vill nod! I vill die before I condescention to such badness, such mockery!"
They were the first words he had spoken since his arrival, and they seemed to hold all his pentup indignation. The girls pitied the old man and, recognizing in him a fellow prisoner, sought to comfort him.
"If the dance depends upon us, there will be no dance," said Patsy, firmly.
"I thought you advised submitting to the whim of these ruffians," said
Uncle John in surprise.
"Only to gain time, Uncle. And the scheme has succeeded. Now is our time to plot and plan how to outwit our enemies."
"Goot!" cried Dan'l approvingly. "I help you. Dey are vermin—pah! I vould kill dem all mitout mercifulness, unt be glad!"