"Get under my bed!" I whispered to Charley, as his escape to his own room was cut off.
In his hurry and confusion, he got into it. I had no time to demur, and jumped in after him, just as the doctor, suspicious and austere, entered, candlestick in hand.
"Noise in number three: senior boy, report."
I, senior boy, reported, and replied by a nasal demonstration which I flattered myself was a very good imitation of a sound snore.
"Robert Travers!" in a voice which might, almost, have awakened the dead.
"Sir," replied I—Robert—as sleepily as I could.
"Somebody walking about this room, and talking."
If brevity is the soul of wit, then old Omega was the wittiest fellow I ever came across,—although he never looked it.
He always spoke sharply and to the point, and gave us our due in the same manner.
Now, as he jerked his sentence out, he approached nearer. Charley, like a certain big bird, seemed to fancy that, because his own face was hidden and he could see no one, it followed that no one could see him; whereas, half his head was exposed to view.