And we four seized the old man and laid him on the boards. He struggled less than we expected. He didn’t believe it yet. “Tie him,” said Decker. We did it. He only flopped about a little, like a dying fish. “Do you want to say a prayer?” asked Decker. “Now, do ha’ done, young gents,” said Plug. “You don’t dare for to murder me.” “Dissecting is lawful,” said Decker, as he took out his knife. “Help!” cried Plug--“professor--Mr. Jangs--missis--help, help!” “Silence,” said Decker. “Gentlemen, you perceive this is the breastbone. I commence here.” He lowered his knife. At that instant Plug gave a jump, and it wasn’t so much that the knife went into him as that he went into the knife. His breast--a bulgy, chicken breast he had--went right up, the point stuck, and out poured the blood--not a few drops, but quarts of it--all over him, all over the sheet, down on the painted floor. Decker’s hands were red, so were his pants. “Oh, dear!” he screamed, “oh, what have I done? Oh, Plug, it was only a joke! Oh, I didn’t mean to! Oh, oh, oh! Get up! Say you ain’t hurt?” “Young gent,” said Plug faintly, “I’m murdered. You’ll be hung; that’s my comfort. Good-by.” And with that his tongue stuck out of his mouth perfectly black, and his eyes rolled up, and he gasped and gurgled. “Dead!” shrieked Decker, and tumbled over on the floor: and just then--rap, rap, rap at the door, and the professor’s voice: “What’s all this noise, young gentlemen?” “Please, sir,” I cried, “Sprat has had a nightmare;” and my teeth chattered so I could not speak. “Tell Sprat to remember that nightmares disturb the house,” said the professor, “and that I disapprove of them.” Then he went slowly downstairs, and Decker lifted up his head again, and said: “Dead! Dead! We’ll all be hung!” “You’ll be,” said Sprat. “Not us.” “Accomplices,” said Decker. “Oh, dear, oh!” “Well,” said Brown, the coolest of us all, “the thing is done. It can’t be helped. All we can do is to hide it. We must put him back in his room and lock both doors, leaving the knife in his hand; then wash up the floor, burn the sheets, throw the boards out of the window, and go to bed. It will be called suicide, and we’ll escape.” “But we’ve killed him,” said Decker. “I’m a murderer, so are you--all of you.” “You don’t want to be hung, do you?” cried Brown. “We didn’t mean to do it. Shut up--don’t betray yourselves. Come, boys! Sprat, make a fire out of copy books. Roper, pitch these boards out of the window. Wait. Here, Decker, catch hold of poor Plug. We must have him in bed first.” “I can’t touch him,” said Decker. “I’d die.” “Then, Roper, come here!” said Brown. “Don’t mind. Shut your eyes, if you have to. What did we get ourselves in this box for? How his tongue sticks out, and how black it is! I’m sick--oh, how sick I am! I say, if we don’t hurry, we’ll all be hung! Think of your mothers! Mine would die! There, that’s brave!”