"Would, eh?" said the policeman. "Well, now, it's lucky for me that that are printing-office and them ere quads are quietly reposing to-night in the dusky realms of imagination, aint it, young man? But here's the quod I spoke about—it's reality, you see." And they ascended the steps of the station-house.
In the midst of sound sleep, I woke on hearing my name called, and saw the dark outlines of a human head and shoulders at my window, projected against a background of illuminated sky. I had heard Father reading an article in the evening paper about a gang of burglars being in the town, and I suppose that in my half-wakened condition that mingled itself vaguely in my thoughts with the idea of fire. At any rate, I seized a pitcher of water and threw its contents toward the light, and then, clubbing the pitcher, was about to make a desperate assault on the supposed burglar, when he spoke again.
| PHAETON IS TAKEN FOR A BURGLAR. |
"What are you doing? Don't you know me?"
"Oh, is that you, Fay?"
"Yes, and you've drenched me through and through," said he, as he climbed in.
"That's too bad," said I. "I didn't know what I was about."
"It's a tremendous fire," said he, "and I hate to lose the time to go back home and change my clothes. Besides, I don't know that I could, for we made a rope of the bedclothes and slid down from our window, and I couldn't climb up again."
"Oh, never mind, put on a suit of mine," said I, and got out my Sunday suit, the only clothes I had that seemed likely to be large enough for Phaeton. It was a tight squeeze, but he got into them.