Pilbury heard a sudden scuffling outside, and a sound of what did not seem like Welchers’ voices. He hurried to the door to ascertain the cause, and as he did so he found himself caught roughly by the arm and slung violently against the opposite wall, while at the same moment Telson, Parson, Bosher, and half a dozen Parrett juniors rushed past him into the empty study, slamming and locking and barricading the door behind them!
It was all so quickly done that the luckless Welchers could hardly believe their own senses. But when they heard the distant voice of Philpot shouting that he was locked up in the chemistry-room, and of Morrison complaining that he couldn’t get out of his own study, and of Cusack demanding to be released from the lavatory; and when their combined assault on the door produced nothing but defiant laughter mingled with the merry frizzing of the herrings before the fire, they knew it was no dream but a hideous fact. They had presence of mind enough to release their incarcerated comrades and attempt another assault in force on the door. But it came to nothing. In vain they shouted, threatened, entreated, kicked. They only received facetious answers from inside, which aggravated their misery.
“Go it, you fellows,” shouted one voice, very like Parson’s, only the mouth was so full that it was hard to say for certain. “Jolly good dough-nuts these; have another, Bosher, you’ve only had four. I say, Cusack, where did you catch these prime herrings? Best I’ve tasted since I came here. Afraid your slate’s a little damaged; awfully sorry, you ought to keep a toasting-fork—ha! ha!” and a chorus of laughter greeted the sally. Cusack groaned and fumed.
“You pack of young cads,” he howled through the key-hole. “Come out of there, do you hear? you thieves you. I’ll warm you, Parson, when I get hold of you.”
“Just what we’re doing to the bloaters,” cried Telson. There was a pause. Then Pilbury cried in tones of feigned warning, “Here comes the doctor! We’ll see what he says.”
“Won’t do,” shouted Parson from within. “Won’t wash, my boy. Paddy’s down at Shellport. Any more sherbet left, King?”
“I’ll go and tell the captain, that’s what I’ll do,” said Pilbury.
“Won’t wash again,” cried Parson. “There’s no captain to tell; I say, we’re leaving something for you, aren’t we, you fellows? There’ll be all the heads of the herrings and the greengage stones— jolly blow-out for you.”
It was no use attempting further parley, and the irate Welchers were compelled to lurk furiously outside the door while the feast proceeded, and console themselves with the prospect of paying the enemy out when it was all over.
But the skill which had accompanied the execution of the raid so far was not likely to omit all precautions possible to make good a retreat. While most of the party were making all the noise they could, and succeeding with jest and gibe in keeping the attention of those outside, the barricade against the door had been quietly removed, and decks cleared for the sortie.