At this instant "Tiny," leaning over the table, blew out the lamp, while John Weymouth, taking Mason's action as his cue, extinguished the other; and with the sudden and unexpected advent of total darkness the colloquy between the two came to an abrupt termination.
"The fact has now been satisfactorily demonstrated that there is a limit even to the most amiable disposition of all," laughed Mason.
Then, with much chuckling and good-natured pushing and jostling, the ambulanciers made a break for the door, and in another moment or two emerged into the "Bureau."[10] There they found the sous chef, Gideon Watts, seated behind the long counter where, in the days long past, the former patron of La Palette had been accustomed to extend a greeting to his guests.
"Sounds like the sortie of a kindergarten," grinned the sous chef. "Nothing doing as yet, mes camarades."
"I guess you do well to emphasize the 'as yet,'" commented Chase, seating himself on a bench.
"We might as well hit the planks, fellows," put in Dunstan. "I declare—whenever I'm on call I feel more sleepy than at any other time."
"The same with me," confessed Weymouth. "But by the sound of things a fellow wouldn't be able to get much sleep no matter how hard he tried. Whew! That real, bona-fide thunder is going to be a winner over the imitation kind."
A deep, booming reverberation, winding up with a succession of crashes, was the occasion of Weymouth's remark.
Of course the drivers who were on call always remained fully dressed, and in order that there might not be an instant's delay in starting, as a rule they got what rest they could on the benches with which the bureau was supplied.
Perceiving that Watts was hard at work on a report, and no doubt being unconsciously affected by the solemnity and grandeur of the warring sounds of nature, the spirit of levity soon left the boys, and, one after another, they spread their blankets and lay down.