Gerald motioned to the further bed. “Slide under there,” he said quietly. The boy flew around the table, dropped to the floor and squirmed quickly from sight. Gerald stepped to the door to close it, but the pursuit was already at the bottom of the stairs, laughing and calling. Gerald left the door ajar, scurried back to his chair and, thrusting his hands into his pockets, leaned carelessly back. [Illustration: “The boy dropped to the floor and squirmed quickly from sight.”] “Yes, when it came to doing it, Burtis, I just couldn’t give up the old place. You get terribly fond of a room after――――” There was a hurried knock and the door was pushed open, revealing a half-dozen laughing faces beyond. “Hello, Pennimore! Is he in here?” The spokesman was a big fellow named Johnson, a Second Class boy, who roomed on the floor above. “Hello,” returned Gerald with a display of mild curiosity. “Is who here?” “The Rabbit! Cotton-Tail! Didn’t he slide in here?” Johnson looked suspiciously around. “Of course he did,” cried another of the crowd. “He didn’t go downstairs and this is the only door that’s open! Where is he, Pennimore? We’ve got to have him! We need him in our business!” “I don’t know the gentleman,” replied Gerald with a smile. “Well, he’s in here just the same,” declared Johnson. “Oh, sure! I’ve got him in my pocket!” “He’s in a closet,” whispered another fellow audibly. “Under a bed, probably,” growled a third. “Say, whose room is this, anyway?” “This room belongs to my friend, Mr. Burtis,” returned Gerald amiably. “If you ask him nicely he will probably allow you to come in and search it to your heart’s content. Mind if this committee of thugs looks around, Burtis?” “N-no, I suppose not,” answered Kendall. “But I don’t see why they should.” “I don’t see any reason myself,” agreed Gerald, carefully avoiding a glance toward the further bed. “Johnson, on the whole, I guess you’d better run away. And you might close the door after you.” “Then he isn’t here?” asked Johnson doubtfully. “Who isn’t here?” demanded Gerald with a fine show of irritability. “Can’t you see he isn’t here? Who the dickens do you want, anyhow?” “Maybe he did sneak downstairs, after all,” someone suggested. “We’ll get him when he comes back, fellows.” “All right,” said Johnson. “Abject apologies for disturbing you, Pennimore, but the law must be enforced, you know.” “Oh, certainly,” replied Gerald carelessly. “Go as far as you like, but close the door after you.” The door closed and the footfalls died away up the stairs. After a minute: “Come out, Mr. Rabbit,” said Gerald softly. “The hounds have gone.” There was a scuffling under Kendall’s bed and, feet first, the quarry emerged. “Much obliged,” he panted. “Are you sure they’ve gone?” “Mm; fairly sure. I’ll lock the door, anyhow. Sit down and recover your _savoir faire_, whatever that is. You must be a newcomer, Mr. Rabbit. I don’t recall your features.”