"Yes, Georgie, darling. And what I wanted to say was, I believe there's somebody in your sleeping-porch."
"What!"
"I'm sure I heard voices."
Come right down to it, and there is no instinct so deeply rooted in the nature of Man as the respect for property—his own property, that is to say. And just as the mildest dog will tackle bloodhounds in defence of its own backyard, so will the veriest of human worms turn if attacked in his capacity of householder. The news that there was somebody in his sleeping-porch caused George to seethe with pique and indignation. It seemed to him that the entire population of New York had come to look on his sleeping-porch as a public resort. No sooner had he ejected one batch of visitors than another took their place.
With a wordless exclamation he rushed out upon the roof, closely followed by Molly and her father. Molly was afraid he would get hurt. Sigsbee H. was afraid he would not. It had been a big night for Sigsbee H. Waddington, and he did not want it to end tamely.
"Have your gun ready," advised Sigsbee H., keeping well in the rear, "and don't fire till you see the whites of their eyes."
George reached the door of the sleeping-porch, and smote it a lusty blow.
"Hi!" he cried. He twisted the handle. "Good heavens, it's locked."
From the upper window, softened by distance, came a pleading voice.
"I say! I say! I say!" To Lord Hunstanton the beating on the door had sounded like the first guns of a relieving army. He felt like the girl who heard the pipers skirling as they marched on beleaguered Lucknow. "I say, whoever you are, dear old soul, let us out, would you mind."