Unfortunately Mr. Dodd in the office had got into a strained position. He found it necessary to move a little; the day-book fell heavily to the floor, and the perspiration popped out all over his forehead. Come out, Levi Dodd. The Bastille is taken, but there are other fortresses still in the royal hands where you may be confined.
“Who's in the office?”
“I don't know, sir,” answered the clerk, winking at his companion, who was sorting nails.
In three strides the great man had his hand on the office door and had flung it open, disclosing the culprit cowering over the day-book on the floor.
“Mr. Dodd,” cried the first citizen, “what do you mean by—?”
Some natures, when terrified, are struck dumb. Mr. Dodd's was the kind which bursts into speech.
“I couldn't help it, Mr. Worthington,” he cried, “they would have it. I don't know what got into 'em. They lost their senses, Mr. Worthington, plumb lost their senses. If you'd a b'en there, you might have brought 'em to. I tried to git the floor, but Ezry Graves—”
“Confound Ezra Graves, and wait till I have done, can't you,” interrupted the first citizen, angrily. “What do you mean by putting a bath-tub into my house with the tin loose, so that I cut my leg on it?”
Mr. Dodd nearly fainted from sheer relief.
“I'll put a new one in to-day, right now,” he gasped.