Before any of the three could understand what had happened there
was a hurried fumbling with the staple and pin of the punt-house door
from the outside, and then an equally hurried retreat of footsteps.
"Well, I'm hanged!" said Gus, after he had picked himself up and tried
the door. "We're locked in."
Young Rogers and Wilson, who had done this fell deed, hoped there was
no doubt about the locking. This couple of ornaments had immediately
after dinner snatched their caps and ran on past the Lodestone Farm for
a particular purpose. They had found a yellowhammer's nest a day or so
before, containing one solitary egg, and their hurried run was for the
purpose of seeing if there was any increase, and if so--well, the usual
result. They were anxious to get back to the cricket-field in time to
shout and generally give their house a leg-up when the Houser with
Taylor's commenced, and their friend Grim had strict orders to bag them
each seats, front row, in the pavilion. They had been busy blowing eggs
for pretty well twenty minutes, and, as they were lazily returning
schoolwards, they caught sight of Gus watching his float.
"There's Gus Todd trying to hook tiddlers," said Rogers.
"Shy a stone," suggested Wilson, "and wake 'em up."
"Rot! There's no cover."
"It's only Todd," said Wilson. "What's the odds?"
"Yes, but not quite the old ass. Better get home."
Keeping well out of sight, the two cronies had watched with curiosity
Todd's manoeuvres as he tried to run the cigar-smokers to earth.
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