“I’ll ‘dare’ you all, if you don’t go away!” raved old Ketch, mistaking, or pretending to mistake, the disturbers for his enemies, the college boys. “It’s a second edition of the trick you played me this evening, is it? I’ll go to the dean with the first glimmer o’ daylight—”
“Ketch, I am the head-master. I have come for the cloister keys. There’s a boy locked in the cloisters!”
“Is there? Praise be given up for that! I wouldn’t unlock him for a mint o’ diaments. If you don’t be off, I’ll call the police.”
“Fire! fire!” shouted Judy, in a shrill tone, putting her mouth to the keyhole; for she despaired of gaining Ketch by any other means. “What an idiot you are, old Ketch! Do you want to be burnt up alive?”
“Fire!” shouted Tom, in stentorian tones. “Fire! fire!” And Ketch, whether he was really alarmed, or whether he recognized the head-master’s voice, and thought it imprudent to hold out any longer, tumbled out of bed, opened the door, and appeared before them in attire more airy than elegant. Another minute, and impetuous Tom would have burst the window in.
“Beg pardon,” said Ketch, ungraciously, to the master. “Them boys play me up such tricks, that I’m always thinking of ‘em. Where’s the fire?”
“I don’t think it’s anywhere,” said the master. “The cloister keys, Ketch: and make haste. Which of the boys played you that trick to-night?”
Ketch gave a yell, for the point was a sore one. “I never set eyes on one of ‘em! They’re too cunning for me.”
“Was my brother Charles one?” asked Tom, while Mr. Pye hastened away with the cloister keys.
“I tell ye I never see’d one! Can’t you believe?” Tom did believe, and went after the master and Judy.