Though he knew it was
still possible that he might be roused by wild "Cooees!" and showers of
gravel at his window, and have to come down and minister to their gross
appetites, the prospect seemed improbable and he soon went to sleep.
Georgie awoke with a start some hours later, wondering what had
disturbed him. There was no gravel rattling on his window, no violent
ringing of bicycle bells, nor loud genial shouts outraging the decorous
calm of Riseholme, but certainly he had heard something. Next moment,
the repeated noise sent his heart leaping into his throat, for quite
distinctly he heard a muffled sound in the room below, which he
instantly diagnosed with fatal certainty as burglars. The first emotion
that mingled itself with the sheer terror, was a passionate regret that
Hermy and Ursy had not come. They would have thought it tremendous
larks, and would have invented some wonderful offensive with fire-irons
and golf-clubs and dumb-bells. Even Tipsipoozie, the lately-abhorred,
would have been a succour in this crisis, and why, oh why, had not
Georgie had him to sleep in his bedroom instead of making him cosy in
the woodshed? He would have let Tipsipoozie sleep on his lovely blue
quilt for the remainder of his days, if only Tipsipoozie could have
been with him now, ready to have fun with the burglar below. As it was,
the servants were in the attics at the top of the house, Dicky slept
out, and Georgie was all alone, with the prospect of having to defend
his property at risk of his life.
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