A general yell was the only answer to this, mingled with loud laughter, as Mr Hashford’s head suddenly appeared at the broken ventilator. The apparition was the signal for a general fusillade of paper balls, in the midst of which the usher modestly retired from observation.
The evening was spent in the same rollicking manner as the afternoon. We held mock school in Mr Ladislaw’s study, and got Flanagan to dress up in an old gown of the Henniker’s, which was found in the boot-room, and enact that favourite character’s part, which he did to the life. We also made out our own “reports” for home, and played a most spirited game of croquet in the hall, with potatoes for balls and brooms for mallets, besides treating our prisoners to a ravishing concert by an orchestra of one dinner-bell, two dish-covers, two combs and paper, and one iron tray.
We kept it up till rather late, and, indeed, it was not till Smith summoned us to a council of war that the problem of how and where to spend the night occurred to us.
“Some of us ought to stay up as sentinels,” said our captain.
“Well, I can’t, for one,” said Philpot, “for I was never so sleepy in my life.”
“I should think,” said Hawkesbury, sweetly, “if the captain stayed up we should be quite safe.”
Why should Smith glare so whenever Hawkesbury spoke? I wondered. I’m sure there did not seem to be anything offensive in this.
“I’ll stay up, Jack,” said I, more with a desire to avert a row than because I felt particularly “spry.”
“So will I,” said Shankley, “if you’ll dig me in the ribs when I get sleepy.”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Smith, after having recovered himself. “Suppose we bring all the beds down and camp out on the landing.”