He was not quick enough, and the next moment a shoe caught him a thump on the nose, a valise banged him on the ear, and a whisk broom pounded him in the eye.
With a howl of pain, as a second volley struck him, he charged on the Irishman, who had come from behind the door.
The coon’s head was down to butt the Irishman in the stomach, but just at the right moment Barney nimbly sprang aside, and with a terrible crash Pomp’s head struck a panel of the door.
It went through, splintering the wood, and before he could withdraw his skull, Barney seized one of the bed-slats and belabored him so that every thump sounded like a pistol shot, and the howls of the captured coon awakened every one in the house.
In the midst of the furore Frank rushed in, and although he could hardly refrain from laughing at the drenched Irishman and the stuck darky, he assumed an angry look and cried, sternly:
“Stop that row, will you? Every one in the hotel is alarmed.”
“Masther Frank,” muttered Barney, dropping the slat.
“Pull me out!” shouted Pomp. “I’se stuck!”
“Faix, I’ll lave yer till yer cocoanut dhrops off!”
“Oh, Lawd amighty, I’se got——”