CHAPTER IV. A NIGHT WITH HENRY BURNS
Henry Burns, having neither father nor mother living, had been taken incharge several years before this by an elderly maiden aunt, whose homewas in the city of Medford, Massachusetts. She was fairly well-to-do,and, as there had been a moderate inheritance left in trust for the boyby his parents, they were in comfortable circumstances.
But Henry Burns was made, unfortunately, to realize that this does notnecessarily mean a home, with the happiness that the word implies. GoodMiss Matilda Burns, a sister of Henry's late father, never having knownthe care of a family of her own, had devoted her life to the interests ofa half a score of missions and ladies' societies of different kinds,until at length she had become so wrapped up in these that there wasreally no room in her life left for the personality of a boy to enter.
Henry Burns was a problem which she failed utterly to solve. Perhaps shemight have succeeded, if she had seen fit to devote less of her time toher various societies, and more to the boy. But she deemed the former offar more importance, and felt her duty for the day well performed, in thematter of his upbringing, if she kept him out of mischief, saw that hewent off to school at the proper hour, and that he did not fall ill.
To achieve two of these ends the most conveniently to her, Miss Matildaexercised a restraint over Henry Burns which was entirely unnecessary andaltogether too severe. Henry Burns was naturally of a studious turn ofmind, and cared more for a quiet evening with a book than he did forplaying pranks about the neighbourhood at night. At the same time, he hada healthy fondness for sports, and excelled in them.
He was captain of his ball team, until Miss Matilda found it out andordered him to stop playing the game. She considered it too rough forboys, having had no experience with boys of her own. And so on, withswimming and several other of his healthful sports. They were altogethertoo risky for Miss Matilda's piece of mind. It came about that HenryBurns, in order to take part with his companions in their out-of-doorsports, found it necessary to play "hookey" and indulge in them withouther knowing it. He won a medal in a swimming-match, but never dared toshow it to Miss Matilda.
Withal a healthy and athletic youth, he had a pale complexion, whichdeceived Miss Matilda into the impression that he was sickly. He wasslight of build, too, which confirmed in her that impression. When onceher mind was made up, there was no convincing Miss Matilda. The familydoctor, called in by her for an examination, found nothing the matterwith him; but that did not avail to alter her opinion. The boy wasdelicate, she said, and must not be allowed to overdo.
Accordingly, she made life miserable for Henry Burns. She kept a watchfuleye over him, so far as her other duties would admit of, sent him off tobed at nine o'clock, tried to dose him with home remedies, which HenryBurns found it availed him best to carry submissively to his room andthen pitch out of the window, and, in short, so worried over, meddledwith, and nagged at Henry Burns, that, if he had been other than exactlywhat he was, she would have succeeded in utterly spoiling him, or havemade him run away in sheer despair.
Henry Burns never got excited about things. He had a coolness that defiedannoyances and disappointments, and a calm persistence that set him tostudying the best way out of a difficulty, instead of flying into apassion over it. He had, in fact, without fully appreciating it, thequalities of success.
If, as was true, he was a problem to Miss Matilda, which she did notsucceed in solving, it was not so in the case of his dealings with her.He made a study of her and of the situation in which he found himself,and proceeded deliberately to take advantage of what he discovered. Heknew all her weaknesses and little vanities to a degree that would haveamazed her, and cleverly used them to his advantage, in whatever hewanted to do. Fortunately for her, he had no inclination to bad habits,and, if he succeeded in outwitting her, the worst use he made of it wasto indulge in some harmless joke, for he had, underlying his quietdemeanour, an unusual fondness for mischief.
What to do with Henry Burns summers had been a puzzle for some time toMiss Matilda. She was accustomed, through these months, to visit anencampment, or summer home, composed of several ladies' societies, andthe presence of a boy was a decided inconvenience. When, one day, shelearned that an old friend, one Mrs. Carlin, a fussy old soul after herown heart, was engaged as housekeeper at the Hotel Bayview, at Southport,on Grand Island, in Samoset Bay, she conceived the idea of sending HenryBurns there in charge of Mrs. Carlin.
So it came about that Henry Burns was duly despatched to Maine for thesummer, as a guest of Colonel Witham. He had a room on the second floor,next to that occupied by the colonel, who was supposed also to exercise aguardianship over him. As Colonel Witham's disposition was such that hedisliked nearly everybody, with the exception of Squire Brackett, and ashe had a particular aversion to boys of all ages and sizes, he did nottake pains to make life agreeable to Henry Burns. He was suspicious ofhim, as he was of all boys.
Boys, according to Colonel Witham's view of life, were born for thepurpose, or, at least, with the sole mission in life, of annoying olderpeople. Accordingly, the worthy colonel lost no opportunity of thwartingthem and opposing them,--"showing them where they belonged," he calledit.
But this disagreeable ambition on the part of the colonel was not,unfortunately, confined to his attitude toward boys. He exercised ittoward every one with whom he came in contact. Despite the fact that hehad a three years' lease of the hotel, he took absolutely no pains tomake himself agreeable to any of his guests. He looked upon them secretlyas his natural enemies, men and women and children whom he hoped to getas much out of as was possible, and to give as little as he could inreturn.
He was noted for his meanness and for his surly disposition toward all.Then why did he come there to keep a hotel? Because he had discoveredthat guests would come, whether they were treated well or not. The placehad too many attractions of boating, swimming, sailing, and excellentfishing, winding wood-roads, and a thousand and one natural beauties, tobe denied. Guests left in the fall, vowing they would not put up with thecolonel's niggardliness and petty impositions another year; but thefollowing season found them registered there again, with the same cordialantipathy existing as before between them and their landlord.
In person, Colonel Witham was decidedly corpulent, with a fiery red face,which turned purple when he became angry--which was upon the slightestoccasion.
"Here's another boy come to annoy me with his noise and tomfoolery," wasthe colonel's inward comment, when Mrs. Carlin, the housekeeper, informedhim that Henry Burns was coming, and was to be under her charge.
So the colonel gave him the room next to his, where he could keep an eyeon him, and see that he was in his room every night not later than teno'clock, for that was the hour Mrs. Carlin had set for that younggentleman's bedtime.
Henry Burns, having in due time made the acquaintance of the Warren boys,as well as a few other youths of his age, had no idea of ending up hisevenings' entertainments at ten o'clock each and every night; so he setabout to discover some means of evading the espionage of the colonel andMrs. Carlin. It did not take him more than one evening of experimentingto find that, by stepping out on to the veranda that ran past his own andColonel Witham's windows, he could gain the ascent to the roof by aclever bit of acrobatics up a lightning-rod. Once there, he found hecould reach the ground by way of the old part of the hotel, in the mannerbefore described. It is only fair to Henry Burns to state that he did nottake undue advantage of this discovery, but kept on the whole as goodhours as most boys of his age. Still, if there was a clambake, or someother moonlight jollification, at the extreme end of the island, whereHenry Burns had made friends among a little fishing community, he was nowand then to be seen, sometimes as the village clock was proclaiming amuch later hour than that prescribed by Mrs. Carlin, spinning along onhis bicycle like a ghost awheel. He was generally known and well likedthroughout the entire island.
On the night following the arriv
al of Tom and Bob, the sounds of aviolin, a clarionet, and a piano, coming from the big parlour of theHotel Bayview, told that a dance was in progress. These dances, withalthe music was provided by the guests themselves, were extremelyirritating to Colonel Witham. They meant late hours for everybody, morelights to be furnished, more guests late to breakfast on the followingmorning, and, on the whole, an evening of noise and excitement, whichinterfered more or less with his invariable habit of going to bed at aquarter after ten o'clock every night of his life.
They brought, moreover, a crowd of cottagers to the hotel, who were givenanything but a cordial welcome by Colonel Witham. He argued that theyspent no money at his hotel, and were, therefore, only in the way,besides adding to the noise.
The guests at the Bayview were, on the whole, accustomed to the ways ofColonel Witham by experience, and really paid but little attention tohim. They went ahead, planned their own dances and card-parties, and lefthim to make the best of it.
This particular evening's entertainment was rather out of the ordinary,inasmuch as it was given by a Mr. and Mrs. Wellington, of New York, inhonour of their daughter's birthday, and, on her account, invitations tothe spread, which was to be served after the dancing, were extended tothe young people of the hotel. In these invitations Henry Burns had, ofcourse, been included; but Mrs. Carlin and Colonel Witham were obdurate.It was too late an hour for him; his eating of rich salads and ices wasnot to be thought of; in short, he must decline, or they must decline forhim, and that was the end of it.
"Never you mind, Henry," said good-hearted Bridget Carrington, who wasMrs. Carlin's assistant, and with whom Henry Burns had made friendship."It's not you that'll be going without some of the salad and theice-cream, not if I know it. Sure, and Mrs. Wellington says you're tohave some, too. So just breathe easy, and there'll be a bit for you and alittle more, too, a-waitin' just outside the kitchen window about nineo'clock. So go on now and say never a word."
So Henry Burns, with the connivance of Bridget, and by the judiciousoutlay of a part of his own pocket-money, in the matter of sweet thingsand other delicacies dear to youthful appetites, had prepared and plannedfor a small banquet of his own in his room, next to that of ColonelWitham.
"But how will you manage so that Colonel Witham won't hear us, as he willbe right alongside of us?" George Warren, who was a partner in HenryBurns's enterprise, had asked.
"Leave that to me," said Henry Burns.
The evening wore on; the strains of the music sounded merrily along thehalls; dancing was in full swing,--everybody seemed to be enjoying theoccasion, save Colonel Witham. He had at least conceded to the occasionthe courtesy of a black frock coat and an immaculate white tie, but hewas plainly ill at ease. He stood in the office, the door of which wasopen into the parlour, his hands twisting nervously behind his back,while he glanced, with no good humour in his expression, now at the blazeof lights in the parlour, and now at the clock, which, however, evenunder his impatient gaze, only ticked along in its most provokinglymethodical fashion.
The outer door opened and in walked young Joe Warren, recognized byColonel Witham as one of the plagues of his summer existence.
"Good evening, Colonel Witham," said young Joe, with studied politeness,and in a tone that ostensibly anticipated an equally cordial response.
"Good evening!" snapped the colonel.
"Good evening, Colonel Witham," chimed Arthur Warren, close at hisbrother's heels.
The colonel responded gruffly.
"Good evening, colonel," came an equally cordial greeting from Tom andBob, and from George Warren, smiling at Colonel Witham, as though he hadextended them a hearty invitation to be present.
The colonel snorted impatiently, while the colour in his red facedeepened. He did not respond to their salutations.
The boys seated themselves comfortably in the office chairs, and listenedto the music.
"You needn't think you're going to get Henry Burns to go off with you,"the colonel said, finally. "It's half-past nine now, and his bedtime isten o'clock. I wonder where he is."
Arthur Warren chuckled quietly to himself. He could have told the coloneljust where Henry Burns was at that moment; that he was busily engaged inconveying a certain basket of supplies from outside the kitchen window,up a pair of back stairs, to his room on the second floor above.
"You go and keep an eye on Colonel Witham," he had said to Arthur Warren,"and if he starts to look for me, you go to the door and whistle."
Which accounted for the sudden appearance of all the Warrens and Tom andBob in the presence of Colonel Witham.
Fifteen minutes elapsed, and one by one they had all disappeared.
"Good riddance," was the colonel's mental ejaculation when he found themgone.
Great would have been his amazement and indignation could he have butseen them, a few minutes later, seated comfortably on the bed in HenryBurns's room. It was approaching ten o'clock.
"Where's Bob?" asked Henry Burns, as the boys quietly entered, and hemade the door fast behind them.
"Hm!" said Tom, shaking his head regretfully. "It's a sad thing aboutBob. It's too bad, but I don't think he will be here, after all."
"Why, what's the matter?" exclaimed Henry Burns, with surprise. "He isn'thurt, is he? I saw him a few hours ago, and he seemed all right."
"No, he isn't hurt,--at least, not the way you mean, Henry. The fact is,he was dancing out on the piazza about half an hour ago with prettylittle Miss Wilson,--you know, the one in the cottage down on theshore,--and the last I saw of Bob he was escorting her home. I'm afraidwe shall have to give him up for to-night."
"That's too bad," said Henry Burns, solemnly, as though some grievousmisfortune had come upon Tom's chum. "And the worst of it is, it may lastall summer. Well, Bob will miss a very pleasant surprise-party to ColonelWitham, to say nothing of the spread. That, by the way, is stowed away inthose baskets over behind the bed and the wash-stand,--but, first, we'vegot to clear the coast of Colonel Witham."
"We're yours to command, Henry," replied George Warren. "Tell us what todo."
"Well, in the first place," said Henry Burns, opening one of his windowsthat led out on to the veranda, as he spoke, "the rest of you just listenas hard as ever you can at my door, while George and I make a brief visitto the colonel's room. If you hear footsteps, just pound on the wall, sowe can get back in time. It's pretty certain he won't be here, though,until we are ready for him. He hasn't missed a night in weeks in gettingto bed exactly at a quarter past ten o'clock. He's as regular as asteamboat; always on time. And he's a good deal like a steamboat, too,for he snores like a fog-horn all night long."
Henry Burns and George Warren disappeared through the window and weregone but a moment, when they reappeared, each bearing in one hand a lampfrom the colonel's room.
"The colonel is always talking about economy," explained Henry Burns, "soI am not going to let him burn any oil to-night, if I can help it. Mylamps happen to need filling,--I've borrowed an extra one for thisoccasion, and so, you see, I don't intend to waste any of the colonel'soil by throwing it away. I'll see that not a drop of the colonel's oil iswasted."
Henry Burns carefully proceeded to pour the oil from each lamp which heand George Warren had brought from the colonel's room into those in hisown room.
"There," he said, "there's enough oil in each of those wicks to burn forseveral minutes, so the colonel will have a little light to start in on.But we don't want to return his lamps empty, and so I'll just fill themup again. I'm sure the colonel would approve of this economy."
And Henry Burns carefully refilled the colonel's lamps from hiswater-pitcher.
"It won't burn very well," he said. "But I'm sure it looks better."
"Now, we'll just take these back again," he continued, addressing GeorgeWarren. "And there's another little matter we want to arrange while weare in there. The colonel is always finding fault with the housemaids.Now we'll see if we can't improve on their work."
Again the two
boys disappeared, while the remaining three stood watchagainst the colonel's sudden appearance.
Once in the colonel's room, Henry Burns seized hold of the bedclothes andthrew them over the foot-board. Then he snatched out three of the slatsfrom the middle of the bed, replacing them with three slender sticks,which he had brought from his own room.
"Those will do to support the bedclothes and the mattress," he explained,"though I'm really afraid they would break if any one who was kind ofheavy should put his weight on them." Then he carefully replaced themattress and the bedclothes, making up the colonel's bed again in themost approved style, with his friend's assistance.
"You take notice," he said to George Warren, as he opened a closet doorin the colonel's room, "that I am careful to destroy nothing of thecolonel's property. I might have sawed these slats in two, and left themjust hanging so they would support the bedclothes, and would not havebeen any more trouble; but, being of a highly conscientious nature, Icarefully put the colonel's property away, where it can be found laterand restored."
"I'm afraid the colonel wouldn't appreciate your thoughtfulness," saidGeorge Warren.
"Alas, I'm afraid not," said Henry Burns. "But that's often the reward ofthose who try to look after another's interests. However, I'll put theseslats in this closet, shut and lock the door, and put the key here on themantelpiece, just behind this picture. It would be just as easy to hidethe key, but I don't think that would be right, do you?"
"Certainly not," laughed George Warren.
"There," said Henry Burns, taking a final survey of everything. "We'vedone all we can, I'm sure, to provide for the colonel's comfort. If hechooses to find fault with it, it will surely be from force of habit."They took their departure by way of the colonel's window, closing itafter them, and quickly rejoined their companions in the next room.
"I deeply regret," said Henry Burns to his guests, "that this banquetcannot begin at once. But we should surely be interrupted by the colonel,and, on the whole, I think it is best to wait until the colonel has takenhis departure for the night from that room,--which I feel sure he willdo, when the situation dawns fully upon him.
"It also pains me," he added, "to be obliged to invite you all to makeyourselves uncomfortable in that closet for a short time. At least, youwill hear all that is going on in the colonel's room, for the partitionis thin between that and his room. So you will have to be careful andmake no noise. I feel quite certain that the colonel will make me asudden call soon after he retires, if not before, and he really wouldn'tapprove of your being here. He's likely to have a decidedly unpleasantway of showing his disapproval, too."
"I think we can assure our kind and thoughtful host that we fullyappreciate the situation," said Arthur Warren, gravely, "and will bepleased to comply with his suggestion to withdraw. Come on, boys, let'sget in. It's after ten now, and time is getting short."
"You take the key with you," said Henry Burns, "and lock the door on theinside. It's just an extra precaution; but I can say I don't know who hasthe key, if anything happens. I won't know which one of you takes it."
The four boys stowed themselves away in the stuffy closet, turned the keyin the lock, and waited. Henry Burns quickly divested himself of hisclothing, put a bowl of water beside his bed, placed a clean whitehandkerchief near it, set a lamp near by on a chair, turned it down sothat it burned dim, unlocked his door so that it could be opened readily,and jumped into bed.
He did not have long to wait. Promptly at a quarter past ten o'clock theheavy, lumbering steps of the corpulent colonel were heard, as he came upthe hallway. The colonel was puffing with the exertion which it alwayscost him to climb the stairs, and muttering, as was his custom whenanything displeased him.
"Suppose they'll bang away on that old piano half the night," heexclaimed, as he passed Henry Burns's door. "And every light burning tillmidnight. How do they expect me to make any money, if they go on thisway?"
He opened the door to his room and went inside, locking it after him.Henry Burns pressed his ear close to the wall and listened.
The colonel, still talking angrily to himself, scratched a match andlighted one of the lamps. Then he divested himself of his collar and tie,threw his coat and waistcoat on a chair, and reseated himself, to takeoff his boots.
All at once they heard him utter a loud exclamation of disgust.
"What on earth is the matter with that lamp?" he cried. "That comes ofhaving hired help from the city. Never look after things, unless you keepright after them. How many times have I spoken about having these lampsfilled every day!"
The colonel scratched a match. "Hulloa," he exclaimed, "it's full, afterall. Well, I see, the wick hasn't been trimmed. There's always somethingwrong." The colonel proceeded to scrape the wick. Then he scratchedanother match. The wick sputtered as he held the match to it.
"Confound the thing!" yelled the colonel, now utterly out of temper. "Thething's bewitched. Where's that other lamp? Oh, there it is. We'll see ifthat will burn. I'll discharge that housemaid to-morrow."
He scratched still another match, held it to the wick of the other lamp,and was evidently satisfied with that, for they heard him replace thelamp-chimney and go on with his undressing.
In a few minutes more there came another eruption from the colonel.
"There goes the other one," he yelled. "I know what's the matter.Somebody's been fooling with those lamps. I'll make 'em smart for it."The colonel unscrewed the part of the lamp containing the wick, took thebowls of the lamps, one by one, over to his window, opened them, andpoured the contents of the lamps out upon the veranda.
"Water!" he yelled. "Water! That's what's the matter. Oh, but I'd justlike to know whether it's that pale-faced Burns boy, or some of thoseother young imps in the house. I'll find out. I'll make somebody smartfor this. Wasting my oil, too. I'll make 'em pay for it."
The colonel set down the lamps, rushed out of his room into the hall forthe lamp that usually occupied a standard there. He did not find it,because Henry Burns had taken the pains to remove it. The colonel made asudden dash for Henry Burns's door, rattled the door-knob and pounded,and then, finding that in his confusion he had failed to discover that itwas unlocked, hurled it open and burst into the room.
What the colonel saw was the pale, calm face of Henry Burns, peering outat him from the bed, as that young gentleman lifted himself up on oneelbow. Around his forehead was bound the handkerchief, which he hadwetted in the bowl of water. The lamp burning dimly completed the pictureof his distress.
"Hi, you there! You young--" The colonel checked himself abruptly, asHenry Burns slowly raised himself up in bed and pressed one hand to hisforehead. "What's the matter with you?" roared the colonel, completelytaken aback by Henry Burns's appearance.
"Oh, nothing," said Henry Burns, resignedly. "It's nothing."
The colonel little realized how much of truthfulness there was in thisanswer.
"Did you want me for anything?" asked Henry Burns, in his softest voice.
"No, I didn't," said the colonel, sullenly. "Somebody has been foolingwith my lamps, and I--I thought I would use yours, if you didn't mind."
"Certainly," replied Henry Burns. "I may not need mine again for the restof the night." Again he pressed his hand dismally to his forehead.
"I won't take it!" snapped the colonel. "You may need it again. Why don'tyou tell Mrs. Carlin you've got a headache? She'll look after you. It'seating too much--eating too much, that does it. I've always said it. Stopstuffing two pieces of pie every day at dinner, and you won't have anyheadache."
With this parting injunction, the irate colonel abruptly took hisdeparture, slamming the door behind him.
Henry Burns dived beneath the bedclothes and smothered his roars oflaughter. The colonel, disappointed in his quest for a lamp, and notcaring to search further in his present condition of undress, returnedonce more to his room and finished undressing in the dark.
"I'll make somebody smart for this to-morrow," he kept repeating
. "Likeas not that little white-faced scamp in the next room had some hand init. I can't quite make him out. Well, I'll go to bed and sleep over it."
The colonel rolled into bed.
There was a crash and a howl of rage from the colonel. He flounderedabout in a tangle of bedclothes for a moment, filling the room with hisangry ejaculations, and endeavouring, helplessly, for a moment, toextricate himself from his uncomfortable position on the floor. Then hearose, raging like a tempest, stumbling over a chair in his confusion,and nearly sprawling on the floor again.
He rang the electric button in his room till the clerk in the officethought the house was on fire, and came running up, breathless, to seewhat was the matter.
"Fire! Who said there was any fire, you idiot!" shrieked the colonel, ashis clerk dashed into the room and ran plump into him. "There isn't anyfire," he cried. "Somebody's been breaking the furniture in here; tearingdown the beds, ruining the lamps. Get that room on the next floor, downat the end of the hall, ready for me. I can't stay here to-night. Don'tstand there, gaping like a frog. Hurry up. Get Mrs. Carlin to fix thatbed up for me. She's gone to bed, do you say? Well, then, get somebodyelse. Don't stand there. Go along!"
The clerk hurried away, as much to prevent the colonel seeing the broadgrin on his face as to obey orders. The colonel, stumbling around in thedarkness, managed to partly dress himself; and, five minutes later, theboys heard him go storming along the hall to the stairway, which hemounted, and was seen no more that night.
The closet door in Henry Burns's room swung softly open, and there rolledout helplessly on the floor four boys, choking with suppressed laughter,the tears fairly running down their cheeks.
Henry Burns, calm as ever, quietly arose from bed, removed the bandagefrom his brow, slid into his clothes, and remarked, softly, "I feelbetter now."
"Oh, don't, Henry," begged George Warren. "If you say any more I shalldie. I can't laugh now without its hurting me."
"You need something to eat," said Henry Burns. Pinning a blanket up overthe transom to hide the light, and stopping his keyhole, to prevent anyray of light from penetrating into the hallway, and throwing down ablanket at the door-sill for the same purpose, Henry Burns lighted bothhis lamps, carefully locked his door, and made ready to entertain hisguests.
"It's not just according to the rules of etiquette," he said, producing apackage from the basket, "but we'll have to start on the ice-cream firstbefore it melts. Then we'll work back along the line, to salad and gingerale."
He drew forth from the package, which proved to be a box filled withchopped ice, a small brick of ice-cream. It was beginning to melt aboutthe edges, but they made short work of it.
"Now," said Henry Burns, "if you please, we'll start all over again. Hereare the sandwiches."
"It's the finest spread I ever had," said young Joe, appreciatively, ashe stowed away his fourth sandwich and helped himself to an orange.
"Joe always goes on the principle that he may be cast away on a desertisland before he has another square meal," said Arthur, "so he alwaysfills up accordingly."
"It's a good principle to go on," responded Henry Burns. "George, youopen the ginger ale."
So they dined most sumptuously, and had gotten down to nuts and raisins,when Henry Burns, whose ears were always on the alert, suddenly sprangup, with a warning "Sh-h-h," and, quickly stepping across the room,turned the lamps down, signalling at the same time for the boys to besilent.
Not one of the others had heard a sound; but now they were aware thatsoft footsteps were pattering along the hallway.
Presently some one came to Henry Burns's door, turned the knob, andrapped very gently.
Not a sound came from the room.
Then a voice said: "Henry, Henry."
There was no reply.
"Strange," said the person outside; "I could have sworn that I heard hisvoice as I came up. Well, I must have been mistaken. He seems to be soundasleep. I guess his headache is better."
They heard the footsteps die away again along the hallway.
"Whew!" said Henry Burns; "that was a narrow escape. That was Mrs.Carlin. Somebody must have told her I was sick. She sleeps all night withone eye and one ear open, they say."
"Well," said George Warren, "I reckon we'd better take it as a warningthat it's time to be going, anyway. It's eleven o'clock, I should say,and we have got to get up early and overhaul the _Spray_. She's up atBryant's Cove yet, and we have got to bring her down and have a newbowsprit put in, and reeve some new rigging. We've had a great time,Henry. Count us in on the next feed, and give our regards to ColonelWitham. Come on, boys."
"Sorry to have to show you out the back way," said Henry Burns, "but thefront way would be dangerous now, and my lightning-rod staircase seems tobe the only way. It's a very nice way when one is used to it; but lookout and don't slip."
By the time the last boy was on the roof, Henry Burns was half-undressed;and by the time the last one had reached the ground, his light was outand he was half-asleep. That was Henry Burns's way. When he did a thing,he did it and wasted no time--whether it was working or playing orsleeping.