"What," said Dennis aghast, "you're not with us?"
"No."
"Aren't you feeling well?"
"First rate."
"But I say, Dink, there's half a dozen of us. We've got all the laundry bags in the house heaped up just outside of Beekstein's door and, I say, we're going to pile 'em all up on top of him and then jump on and pie him, and scoot for our rooms before old Bundy can jump the stairs and nab us. It'll be regular touch and go—a regular lark! Come on!"
A snore answered him.
"You won't come?"
"No."
"Are you mad at me?"
"No, I'm sleepy!"