There were footsteps. The professor clutched the rope with an iron grasp, and just in time. Some one was attempting to jerk it out of his hands.
“It seems to be stuck,” said a voice above.
“Let me try it,” said Mrs. Bannerman.
“Let us all try it,” said a chorus of voices.
The professor’s blood froze. He curled up tighter about the rope in his damp little puddle. He feared the ladies and particularly he feared the brawny might of the fearful Mrs. Bannerman.
He held fast, but it was of no use.
He was going up!
“As if I were a veal cutlet going up for supper,” he thought.
Blinking, he ascended into the cruel light of day.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Bannerman,” he said politely.