"Uh! What—what's the matter?" sputtered the terrified voice of the Professor. "Is it fire?"
His great feet pounded to the floor and across the room to his bureau.
"Here—here! Isabel! Take these—and these—and these. I'll—oh, where's that—that——"
"Amos! Amos, dear!" She was laughing a little now. "It's not—fire. Listen! It's—not—fire."
"Not—fire? Not—— Then what's the reason——"
"Mr. Aikens wants to speak to you—out the window. Put your slippers on first—and this gown."
"Eh—Mr. Aikens? Why—why, what's the matter?"
The window opened wider and a night-capped head was thrust out, only to be withdrawn immediately.
"Isabel—Isabel!" he whispered, in a tone that carried as far as if he had shouted it. "Where's the ladder? I'm sure I left it out as usual. It's—gone."
She spoke from dose beside him at the window, laughing: