"What--what you going to do to me?"
"I'm going to pour a pitcher of cold water on your bare feet."
"Oh!"
The thought of it sent Teddy into a nervous chill. He would
rather take a sound thrashing, at any time, than have that done
to him. Now he struggled more desperately than ever to hold Phil
under the bed. At last, however, the boys rolled out and Teddy's
shoulders struck the cabin floor with a bang that sent the
pitcher jingling in the wash bowl.
Phil sprang up, seized the water pitcher, making a threatening
move with it toward his companion.
"Wow! Don't, don't!" howled Teddy.
Phil pursued him around the cabin, the water splashing from the
pitcher to the floor. Teddy yelling like a wild Indian every
time he stepped in the puddles.
The window was open and the band was playing just outside.
Suddenly a new plan occurred to Teddy--a plan whereby he might
escape from his tormentor.
Taking a running start he sprang up, making a clean dive through
the window head-first.
The lad had intended to land on his hands, do a cartwheel and
come up easily on his feet.
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