"He didn't mean stay and be roasted," said Robert; "no boys on burning decks for me, thank you."
"Not much," said Cyril, and he opened the door of the box.
"HE OPENED THE DOOR OF THE BOX."
But a fierce waft of smoke and hot air made him shut it again. It was not possible to get out that way.
They looked over the front of the box. Could they climb down?
It would be possible, certainly, but would they be much better off?
"Look at the people," moaned Anthea; "we couldn't get through." And, indeed, the crowd round the doors looked thick as flies in the jam-making season.
"I wish we'd never seen the Phœnix," cried Jane.
Even at that awful moment Robert looked round to see if the bird had overheard a speech which, however natural, was hardly polite or grateful.