"No, I can't. I wasn't lookin'!"
"You can't get out, William," said Mrs. Brown desperately. "We can't move everything again. You must just stop there till it's unpacked. We'll try to push your lunch in to you."
There was determination in the voice that answered, "I want to get out! I'm going to get out!"
There came tumultuous sounds—the sound of the ripping of some material, of the smashing of glass and of William's voice softly ejaculating "Crumbs! that ole lookin' glass gettin' in the way!"
"You'd better take out the piano again," said Mrs. Brown wanly. "It's the only thing to do."
With straining, and efforts, and groans, and a certain amount of destruction, the piano was eventually lowered again to the ground. Then the sideboard and hat-stand were moved to one side, and finally there emerged from the struggle—William and Jumble. Jumble's coat was covered with little pieces of horsehair, as though from the interior of a chair. William's jersey was torn from shoulder to hem. He looked stern and indignant.
"A nice thing to do!" he began bitterly. "Shuttin' me up in that ole van. How d'you expect me to breathe, shut in with ole bits of furniture. Folks can't live without air, can they? A nice thing if you'd found me dead!"
Emotion had deprived his audience of speech for the time being.
With a certain amount of dignity he walked past them into the house followed by Jumble.