And somewhere a window was broken.⁠ ⁠…

“What’s that?” said I.

“It isn’t⁠—?” cried the little man, and rushed to the corner window.

All the others rushed to the window likewise. I sat staring at them.

Suddenly I leapt up, knocked over my third egg, and rushed for the window also. I had just thought of something. “Nothing to be seen there,” cried the little man, rushing for the door.

“It’s that boy!” I cried, bawling in hoarse fury; “it’s that accursed boy!” and turning about I pushed the waiter aside⁠—he was just bringing me some more toast⁠—and rushed violently out of the room and down and out upon the queer little esplanade in front of the hotel.