So Tom gripped the back of Julian's belt, and Julian, by leaning far out of the window and practically dislocating his neck, was able to get his mouth into position under the spout and gulp down rainwater. It tasted of rust and wood and creosote and dead leaves and sparrows, but the main thing was that it was _wet_. After he had drunk all he could, he held onto Tom's belt and performed the same service for him. Then they ate the last of the peanuts to take the taste of the rainwater out of their mouths, and after that they rolled themselves up in their blankets--it was cooler now--and lay down in the darkness. "I'll never forget this night, man," Tom said. "Wait till we tell the kids: a real live ghost story." "A real live goat story, you mean, and Uncle Sam's not the only goat," said Julian with a weary yawn. "I don't think anything makes you so tired as being good and scared and then getting over it." Soon, in spite of their hard bed, they were sound asleep. The rain poured steadily all night. Uncle Sam settled down beside them for a while, but toward morning he wandered into the hall and began nibbling at the tatters of wallpaper that hung loose from the wall. He nibbled thoughtfully and rather daintily like someone eating celery at a dinner party. 14 _Advice to Librans_ "Well, I think it's disgusting, perfectly _disgusting_, of them to have gone off without us that way, without telling us or anything," Portia said to Lucy, and Lucy agreed. "Boys think they're the only ones who are entitled to adventure," she said. "I bet we would have been just as brave as they were." "Braver!" declared Portia, and she stayed mad at Julian for two whole days. Because of course the story of the boys' escapade had come out almost immediately. In the first place they had overslept that morning. When they woke up, it was broad daylight; the rain was gone and the sun was out; Uncle Sam was clicking restlessly about the room. "Jumping cats, it's almost nine o'clock!" Tom yelped. "I'll be late to the store and Mr. Bilmeyer will bawl me out!" "I'll be late with my newspapers, and _everyone_ will bawl me out!" said Julian. Hastily they bundled their belongings together and made for the back stairs, Uncle Sam following. The only trouble was that there were no back stairs. They apparently had collapsed or been hacked away by vandals years ago. "There might be a tree by a window, or something," Tom offered hopefully. "We could get down that way." But there was no tree that grew near enough; and to jump was out of the question. "All we can do is yell," Julian said; so they leaned out of a window on the north side of the house and bellowed till they were hoarse. "Uncle Pi-in! Oh, Uncle _Pi-in_!" But there was no sign of him, and it was getting later by the minute, so they went to a window on the south side of the house and bellowed there.