"But now--are you fellows hungry ?" Greg and Harry scurried away to wash hands and faces.
"I think you had a cheek to let three fellows go after help," grumbled Hen.
"Well, why ?" asked Dick patiently.
"S'pose old Fitsey takes it into his head to come over here, on top of the crust, while there's just us four here ?" shuddered Hen.
"There are only three of us here, Dutcher.

You don't count," interposed Greg ironically.
"Fitsey'd eat us up alive if he guessed the truth and came over here," contended Dutcher stubbornly.

"Hey, Dick! What on earth are you doing ?" "Shoving one of the shutters back," Prescott answered, going on with his task.
"Hey! Don't do that!" pleaded Hen hoarsely, running over to Dick and grabbing one of the latter's arms.

"Why, this is--it's suicide, that's what it is!" "Yes ?" Dick queried calmly, shaking off Hen's hold and going on with his task.
"It certainly is," Dutcher maintained fearfully.

"Why, with a shutter open, Fitsey can jump right through the window glass and be in here on top of us in a jiffy.