Two black masks hung over the deserted window-edge.
"Joe—Joe! it's only we boys—Percy and Van. Joe—Joe!"
"He'll be killed!" gasped Van, his face as white as Joel's robe fluttering below them in his wild descent. "Stop him, Percy. Oh! do stop him."
Percy clung to the window-sill, and danced in distress. "Stop him!" he was beyond uttering anything more.
"Yes, oh, Joe! don't you see it's only Percy and Van?" cried Van persuasively, and hanging out of the window to the imminent danger of adding himself to Joel's company.
Percy shoved him back. "He's 'most down," he said, finding his breath.
"Now we'll run downstairs and let him in."
Van flew off from the window. "I'll go; it's my scrape," and he was unlocking the door.
"I'm the oldest," said Percy, hurrying to get there first. "I ought to have known better."
This made Van furious, and pushing Percy with all his might, he wriggled out first as the door flew open, and not forgetting to tiptoe down the hall, he hurried along, Percy behind him, to hear the noise of men's feet coming over the stairs.
Van tried to rush forward shouting, "Thomas, it's we boys—Percy and Van." Instead, he only succeeded in the darkness, in stumbling over a chair, and falling flat with it amid a frightful racket that drowned his voice.