"Your side of the conversation is a trifle loud, Tom," he said.

"Miss Carewe is down there, across the street, on a pile of boxes." Tom stopped in the middle of a word, for which he may have received but half a black stroke from the recording angel.

He wheeled toward the street, and, shielding his inflamed eyes with his hand, gazed downward in a stricken silence.

From that moment Mr.Vanrevel's instructions to his followers were of a decorum at which not the meekest Sunday-school scholar dare have cavilled.
The three men now on the long ladder, Marsh, Eugene Madrillon, and Will Cummings, found their position untenable; for the flames, reaching all along the wall, were licking at the ladder itself, between Marsh and Eugene.

"I can't stand this any longer," gasped Tappingham, "but I can't leave those two up there, either." "Not alone," shouted Cummings from beneath Madrillon.