"Ethel, my smelling salts! They're on the mantel-piece."
Robert grew pale.
"Good Lord—my silver cricket cup," he gasped, racing upstairs.
The landing window had been too small, and Mr. Blank too big, though William did his best.
There came to the astounded listeners the sound of a fierce scuffle, then Robert descended, his hair rumpled and his tie awry, holding William by the arm. William looked pale and apprehensive. "He was there," panted Robert, "just getting out of the window. He chucked the things out of his pockets and got away. I couldn't stop him. And—and William was there——"
William's face assumed the expression of one who is prepared for the worst.
"The plucky little chap! Struggling with him! Trying to pull him back from the window! All by himself!"
"I wasn't," cried William excitedly. "I was helping him. He's my friend. I——"
But they heard not a word. They crowded round him, praised him, shook hands with him, asked if he was hurt. Mrs. de Vere Carter kept up one perpetual scream of delight and congratulation.
"The dear boy! The little pet! How brave! What courage! What an example to us all! And the horrid, wretched man! Posing as a hero. Wangling himself into the sweet child's confidence. Are you hurt, my precious? Did the nasty man hurt you? You darling boy!"