Freddy Farmer closed his mouth with an effort, and together they lifted a heavy table, two chairs, and a bamboo chest affair, across the room and wedged them as best they could against the door.
"Okay," Dawson said when that was done. "Peel off your tunic and shirt and tear them into strips. I'm going to do the same just as soon as I get old rags and papers over there in the corner."
But Freddy Farmer didn't move. He simply stood rooted in his tracks and stared at Dawson as though he believed his pal had suddenly gone stark, raving mad. He was still standing there rooted in his tracks when Dawson returned with an armful of filthy rags and old papers that he had gathered up from the corner of the room. He placed them in a pile close to the side wall and directly under the skylight. Then he straightened up and took off his own tunic and shirt, and started ripping them down the seams.
"Get yours off, Freddy!" he said. "Get them off fast. Don't you get the idea of the match, now?"
"No, I do not!" young Farmer replied, and fumbled with his buttons. "Unless you intend to set the house on fire?"
"No, just this pile of rags, cloth, and old papers," Dawson said, and motioned for Freddy to toss him his tunic. "And unless I miss my guess it will make plenty of smoke."
"Smoke?" Freddy fairly gagged. "Good grief, why?"
Dawson looked at him, and smiled.
"Boy, you sure are slow on the uptake today, pal," he said and pointed a finger upward. "That skylight. It's a natural for a chimney. If we can make enough smoke it will go pouring out of there. Maybe we'll even have to break up some of those chairs and toss the pieces on the fire. But we want lots of smoke to go pouring out of that skylight for people to see."
"Why, bless me!" Freddy Farmer ejaculated. "It'll ..."