"
The imprisoned trio had not had a very lively time that afternoon in the
punt-house. The door remained obstinately shut, and neither Todd nor his
two companions relished a swim in the moat as the price of freedom. The
dervishes took matters very calmly; the desire to play for Biffen's was
not strong enough to counterbalance the natural shrinking from a header
into the duckweed and a run home in wet clothes. Singh Ram had a final
try at the door, and then murmured--so Gus said--"Kismet," and relit his
half-smoked cigar. Todd, indeed, shouted lustily; but when he realized
that by contributing to the escape of the dervishes he might contribute
to the downfall of his own house, he stopped himself in the middle of an
unearthly howl. For three hours Gus remained a half-voluntary prisoner;
but, when he judged it safe, he created such a pandemonium that young
Hill hurried out of the farm stable, thinking there must be some weird
tragedy taking place at the punt-house. He had hurried across and let
the trio out.
The dervishes got a mixed reception from Biffen's crowd. Worcester was
almost eloquent in his language, and Acton was calmly indifferent.
"But I tell you, Worcester, some beast locked us in the punt-house."
"I wish they'd kept you there," said Dick, unmollified.
Whilst Worcester was swallowing his tea, Rogers and Wilson craved
audience. Their faces were as long as fiddles.
"Oh, Worcester!" began Rogers, tremulously, "we've come to tell you that
it was we who lost Biffen's the houser.
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