As Charley gained the door, he sustained himself by holding with his left hand upon the door-post, while with the right he applied a small steel key to the key-hole.
"Why the devil don't it fit? Lend a hand here, Pratt, and see what you can do."
Arthur had seated himself upon the step, and sat with his head leaning on his hand, but he rose at Charley's bidding, and took the key.
"Why don't it fit?" said he, after looking at it a moment, intently. "Well, the reason is my trunk key don't fit this door, and I'd like to know how you came by it."
"Your trunk key! well, where's the other? Your trunk key! I guess so! Well, here's one that will fit," and he drew out a brass house-door key, and shufflingly applied it to the lock.
"Devil! wrong again. Pratt, stand up here, and help me."
"We'll never get in at this rate, Charley."
"I'll give you a lodging, if that's what you're after," said a voice near them, and a hand fell heavily on a shoulder of each.
"Nabbed, by gripes!" cried Quirk, suddenly turning round.