“Holy cow, it’s hot up here!”
“There’s no book here,” Peg declared, with an impatient grunt. [[141]]
“Lookit!” pointed the freckled one, in a sudden unnerving discovery. “The door’s shut.”
“What the dickens?…” cried Scoop, dashing across the room. “Hey!” he cried, shaking the bolted door and pounding on its heavy panels with his fists. “What’s the idea of locking us in?”
“Quit your poundin’ on that door,” the lock tender roared from the foot of the stairs, “or I’ll put a charge of bird shot through the floor into your feet.”
“Let us out,” cried Scoop.
“You’ll be let out, all right … when my brother Ham gits here with four pairs of handcuffs.”
“You’ll lose your job for this,” screeched Scoop, furious. “For you have no right to lock us up.”
“I hain’t got no right, hey? Mebby you young scallawags don’t know who I be. Um … I’m a deputy sheriff, let me tell you.”
“Being a deputy sheriff,” cried Scoop, “doesn’t give you a right to lock up innocent people. And you better let us out of here in a hurry, if you know what’s good for you.”