Twyford started
for a second, and then said, sharply:
"Really, I don't think it's a suitable occasion for trying to
frighten a child."
"Who's a child?" cried the indignant Summers, with a voice that had
a crow, but also something of a crack in it. "And who's a funk,
either? Not me."
"I will be silent, then," said the other voice out of the darkness.
"But silence also makes and unmakes."
The required silence remained unbroken for a long time until at last
the clergyman said to Symon in a low voice:
"I suppose it's all right about air?"
"Oh, yes," replied the other aloud; "there's a fireplace and a
chimney in the office just by the door."
A bound and the noise of a falling chair told them that the
irrepressible rising generation had once more thrown itself across
the room. They heard the ejaculation: "A chimney! Why, I'll be--"
and the rest was lost in muffled, but exultant, cries.
The uncle called repeatedly and vainly, groped his way at last to
the opening, and, peering up it, caught a glimpse of a disk of
daylight, which seemed to suggest that the fugitive had vanished in
safety. Making his way back to the group by the glass case, he fell
over the fallen chair and took a moment to collect himself again. He
had opened his mouth to speak to Symon, when he stopped, and
suddenly found himself blinking in the full shock of the white
light, and looking over the other man's shoulder, he saw that the
door was standing open.
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