Gerald, at last taking pity on the prisoner, turned the door knob and The Duke stumbled out, angry of countenance and incoherent of speech.
“Wish you’d get yourself locked up in that blamed thing,” he sputtered, “and see how you like it! It’s ninety-eight in there, and you can’t breathe! Why didn’t you open that door before? Wanted to be smart, I suppose?”
“What’s the matter with the door?” asked Harry.
“It’s crazy, I guess. You can’t open it from inside to save your life. It ought to be fixed.”
“Oh, I guess you didn’t go at it right,” said Harry soothingly. “Let me try it.”
So Harry stepped into the booth and closed the door behind him, The Duke’s expression of wrath changing slowly to a wicked grin. Harry turned the knob inside and pushed. The door remained firm. Then he tried again and with no better success. The Duke was thoroughly enjoying himself now, applauding and encouraging. Gerald observed smilingly. At last Harry gave it up.
“Can’t be did,” he announced from within in a smothered voice. “Open her up, Gerald.”
Gerald looked inquiringly at The Duke and The Duke gazed questioningly at Gerald. “Strange,” observed the latter, “that you can’t hear what he says. Perhaps if he put his mouth to the keyhole——”
“There isn’t any,” said The Duke.