“Shut up!” he said fiercely. “Want to wake Marm?”
But John, still befogged with sleep, was confused and alarmed. Where he was he couldn’t imagine; this was not his little attic room at home; and who the strange figure in ghostly attire might be he couldn’t imagine either. Safe to say, though, that he was there at the bedside for no good purpose; and when a hand closed over his mouth and he was told to “shut up,” John’s fighting blood surged within him! The next thing that Ned knew he was flying head over heels toward his own bed. He landed thereon with a force that made the springs creak protestingly and that sent him bounding up again in the air. And when he once more landed John was on him. There was no time for explanations. Ned grappled and avoided punishment by pulling John down upon him. Then they tossed and struggled, John striving to get to Ned’s throat and Ned striving just as desperately to roll him off and get the ascendancy. The bed swayed and groaned. Once John’s fingers reached Ned’s throat but were torn away again.
“Try to rob me, would you?” growled John vindictively.
“Let—go!” gasped Ned. “You—crazy—idiot!”
“Give up?” John asked.
But at that moment Ned got one leg free and, using it as a lever, sent John sprawling on to the floor between the beds. Ned tumbled off the other side and when his roommate had found his feet Ned was ready for him.
“What—what’s the matter—with you?” he panted.
John looked across stupidly. His arms, ready for another assault, dropped to his sides and he stared about the moonlit room.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“You’re in The Den, you wild idiot,” answered Ned. “Where did you think you were?”