Roy waved down to him airily. “Good-by, Pop!” he called. The farmer cut the horse savagely with the whip and was out of sight around the corner of the house. “I don’t suppose it does any good to sass him,” said Chub, “but it gives me a lot of satisfaction.” He went over and kicked the door and was rewarded with a deep growl from Carlo. “Dear little doggie is still at his post,” he said. He bent and put his mouth to the key-hole. “Carlo,” he called softly, “dear little dogums! I’d like to wring your blooming neck, do you hear? You do hear? Well, think about it, will you?” He walked back to the window, whistling cheerfully. Roy, seated on the edge of the bed, scowled. “Don’t be an ass,” he said, grumpily. “Why not? What’s the use of making a tragedy out of it? Let us dance, sing, and be merry! ‘We’re here because we’re here, because we’re here, because we’re here!’” Chub sang the words to the tune of Auld Lang Syne. Roy smiled faintly. “Let us play we’re Monte Cristos,” said Chub. “What was it he did when he was shut up in the Castle of Thingamabob? Dug his way through the wall, didn’t he? Well, let’s do the same!” Chub drew out his pocket-knife and began to hack at the plaster. “If you do that,” observed Roy, “they’ll give us ten days in jail for destroying property, or vandalism, or disturbing the peace, or something.” “That’s so! I don’t see but they’ve got us anyway,” said Chub. “We might as well be hung for a lamb as a--no, for a sheep as a lamb, as the old saying goes. What’s that?” He stopped and listened. Then he ran to the window and looked cautiously out. Below, at the edge of the lane, stood Dick, his hands in his pockets, grinning up at the window. “Hello, Chub!” he called. “Come on out!” “Mother won’t let me,” answered Chub, with a grin. “Where were you Dickums, when the storm broke?” “In the preserves.” “In the what?” “Preserve closet under the stairs. I heard everything nicely. I thought I’d die!” “Did, did you?” asked Roy, sarcastically. “You always did have a crazy sense of humor. What are you going to do?” “Me? Go back to the boat and have supper, of course,” replied Dick, with a wicked grin. “It’s a fine night, isn’t it? See the new moon?” “Don’t be a ninny,” said Roy, impatiently. “Do something! He may be back any moment.” “Oh, no, he’s good for an hour; he said so. What’ll I do--shoot the dog or burn the house down?” “Find a ladder, you blathering idiot,” Chub laughed. “There ought to be one at the barn.” “There is. I looked.” “Well, why didn’t you bring it?” “It’s too short.” There was silence after this for a moment. Then, “How much too short?” asked Roy. “About ten feet, I guess.” “You guess! Well, go get it and let’s find out!” “Instantly, your Majesty!” Dick went off toward the barn unhurriedly, whistling softly. “Isn’t he exasperating?” asked Roy.