Joel flung down the towel, and pranced to the door.
“No one else,” said the boy to whom the head belonged.
“Not me?” asked David longingly. “Can't I come?”
“No—no one but Joe.” Joel rushed over the sill tumultuously, deserting David and the Bates boy.
“Don't speak a single word,” said the boy out in the hall, putting his mouth close to Joel's ear, “but move lively.”
No need to tell him so. In a minute they were both before the housemaid's closet.
“Feel under,” whispered the boy, with a sharp eye down the length of the hall.
Joel's brown hands pawed among the cleaning-cloths and brushes, bringing up in a trice the racket, Grandpapa's gift, to flourish it high.
“Take care; keep it down,” said the boy in a hurried whisper.
“Oh, oh!” cried Joel, hanging to it in a transport.