“I say,” shouted Lumley at the back of the door, which he saluted with a kick, “my sister is married!”
“Poor thing!” said I. “Who to?”
“Open the door.”
“I can’t. I’m in bed.”
“You must.”
“I won’t.”
“No! then here goes.”
He retired as he spoke, and, making a rush, launched himself against my door, which, however, withstood the shock.
“Here, Spooner,” I then heard him say, “lend a hand; let us go at it together.”
They went at it together. The lock gave way; the chest of drawers went spinning to the other side of the room, and Lumley tumbled over Spooner as both fell headlong to the floor.