But he was not yet high
enough. He tried a chair, and still required a greater elevation.
Espying Frank's Latin dictionary, he pressed that into service.
By and by Frank and his mother heard the clock striking an
unusual number of times.
"What is the matter with the clock?" inquired Mrs. Frost.
"I don't know," said Frank unsuspiciously.
"It has struck ten times, and it is only four o' clock."
"I wonder if Pomp can have got at it," said Frank, with a sudden
thought.
He ran downstairs hastily.
Pomp heard him coming, and in his anxiety to escape detection,
contrived to lose his balance and fall to the floor. As he fell,
he struck the table, on which a pan of sour milk had been placed,
and it was overturned, deluging poor Pomp with the unsavory
fluid.
Pomp shrieked and kicked most energetically. His appearance, as
he picked himself up, was ludicrous in the extreme. His sable
face was plentifully besprinkled with clotted milk, giving him
the appearance of a negro who is coming out white in spots.
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