The skipper vouchsafed no reply, but made a significant gesture with his fist, which caused Harry to put himself in a posture of defence.
At this moment footsteps were heard on the wooden platform in front of the building.
Instantly all became silence and expectation in the hall as the result of the practical joke was about to be realised. Just then another step was heard on the platform, and it became evident that two persons were approaching the door.
“Hope it’ll be the right man,” said the skipper, with a look savouring slightly of anxiety.
As he spoke the door opened, and a foot crossed the threshold; the next instant the miniature avalanche descended on the head and shoulders of a man, who reeled forward from the weight of the blow, and, covered from head to foot with snow, fell to the ground amid shouts of laughter.
With a convulsive stamp and shake, the prostrate figure sprang up and confronted the party. Had the cast-iron stove suddenly burst into atoms and blown the roof off the house, it could scarcely have created greater consternation than that which filled the merry jesters when they beheld the visage of Mr Rogan, the superintendent of the fort, red with passion and fringed with snow.
“So,” said he, stamping violently with his foot, partly from anger, and partly with the view of shaking off the unexpected covering, which stuck all over his dress in little patches, producing a somewhat piebald effect,—“so you are pleased to jest, gentlemen. Pray, who placed that piece of snow over the door?” Mr Rogan glared fiercely round upon the culprits, who stood speechless before him.
For a moment he stood silent, as if uncertain how to act; then turning short on his heel, he strode quickly out of the room, nearly overturning Mr Hamilton, who at the same instant entered it, carrying his gun and snow-shoes under his arm.
“Dear me, what has happened?” he exclaimed, in a peculiarly gentle tone of voice, at the same time regarding the snow and the horror-stricken circle with a look of intense surprise.
“You see what has happened,” replied Harry Somerville, who was the first to recover his composure; “I presume you intended to ask, ‘What has caused it to happen?’ Perhaps the skipper will explain; it’s beyond me, quite.”