"Sh!" commanded Ruth. "He's asleep."
Tom took in the situation at a glance. Madge Steele peered out of her door at that moment. "Who is it—Bobbins?" she asked.
"No. It's Izzy. He's walking in his sleep," said Ruth.
"He's a regular somnambulist," exclaimed Helen.
"Never mind. Don't call him names. He can't help it," said Madge.
Helen giggled again. Tom had darted back to rouse his chum. Bob Steele appeared, more tousled and more sleepy-looking than Tom.
"What's the matter with that fellow now?" he grumbled. "He's like a flea—you never know where he's going to be next! Ha! he'll fall off that and break his silly neck."
And as Busy Izzy was just then nearest his end of the hall in his strange gyrations, Bob Steele stepped forward and grabbed him, lifting him bodily off the balustrade. Busy Izzy screeched, but Tom clapped a hand over his mouth.
"Shut up! want to raise the whole neighborhood?" grunted Bobbins, dragging the lightly attired, struggling boy back into their room. "Ha! I'll fix you after this. I'll lash you to the bedpost every night we're here—now mark that, young man!"
It seemed that the youngster often walked in
