O!—How he wanted to break out! He drew back, a moment, and then he threw himself, with all his might, against the grating.
He did not care if it hurt him. He was so sore inside that it almost felt good to be pained a little, outside.
Click!
“What was that?—What?—The door is open?—What have I done?—I couldn’t have broken it!”
That was so. Every rod in the grating near him and in the door, was perfectly sound and whole, and yet,—he could hardly believe his eyes,—the door of his cage was now standing ajar, as if inviting him to push it open wider and walk out into the roomy corridor. He did so, but it was very much as if it were all a dream.
Jim’s first feeling was a strong sense of exhilaration, for one of the barriers he had been thinking of had unexpectedly given way. It was such a strong barrier, too, with its steel gratings and its lock. He turned and stared at his open door and empty bedroom and he came near exclaiming aloud:
“How did it happen?”
He knew the door had been shut as carefully as usual by the officer who had been in charge of the boys when they marched into the dormitory.
He examined the look.
It was a very pretty, very perfect lock, but he saw that its strong, brass tongue, that played back and forth on its spring when a key worked it, could also be pushed back by his finger, pressing on its end. Then he almost shut the door and could see that the brass tongue was short and would only go under its catch, on the upright at the side, about half an inch or so.