Dave was recalling all the delightful possibilities of such a room, when click! went something on the pavement before him.
"A penknife," said he, picking up the article, and then, looking in vain among the branches of the tree for its owner. Examining the knife, he noticed a slip of paper shut in under the largest blade, and on which was written:
"Five Dollars Reward! I am on the City Hall roof, and can't get down, as the spring-latch door has blown closed. Please send the janitor to release me.
"Charles M. Wilson."
"Why, he's our Governor!" said astonished Dave, aloud, and started to look for the janitor. Dave had been on the roof with his father only the day previous, and knew just how the door would act if it was not fastened back.
Stout old Billy Simms, the janitor, in his shirt sleeves, had comfortably propped himself back in an arm-chair to take a nap, when rap-rap-rap sounded on the door. Billy's "office," as he called it, was on the ground-floor of the City Hall.
"Well, boy, what's wanted?" gruffly demanded old Billy, having opened the door and discovered Dave.
"Why, the Governor's shut out on the roof, and can't get down," said Dave, handing Billy the paper. "He must have been looking at the Fair Grounds."
Old Billy lowered his great silver-rimmed glasses from his forehead to his nose, and read the paper. He gazed for a moment in a queer way over his glasses at Dave, and then laying his hand pretty heavily on Dave's shoulder, said, "Come with me."
"I haven't time; and, besides, I don't want any reward," answered Dave.