They tried it every way. The first way took a piece out
of the doorpost, the second made a dint two inches deep in the piano,
the third knocked over the grandfather clock, which fell with a
resounding crash, breaking its glass, and incidentally a tall china
plant stand that happened to be in its line of descent.
Mrs. Brown sat down and covered her face with her hands.
"It's like some dreadful _nightmare_!" she groaned.
Messrs. Blake, Johnson and Jones paused to wipe the sweat of honest
toil from their brows.
"I dunno _'ow_ it's to be got out," said Mr. Blake despairingly.
"It got in!" persisted Mrs. Brown. "If it got in it can get out."
"We'll 'ave another try," said Mr. Blake with the air of a hero
leading a forlorn hope. "Come on, mites."
This time was successful and the piano passed safely into the hall,
leaving in its wake only a dislocated door handle and a torn chair
cover. It then passed slowly and devastatingly down the hall and
drive.
The next difficulty was to get it into the van. Messrs. Blake, Johnson
and Jones tried alone and failed. For ten minutes they tried alone and
failed. Between each attempt they paused to mop their brows and throw
longing glances towards the Blue Cow, whose signboard was visible down
the road.
The gardener, the cook, the housemaid, and Ethel all gave their
assistance, and at last, with a superhuman effort, they raised it to
the van.
They then all rested weakly against the nearest support and gasped for
breath.
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