"Oh yes, of course. Why didn't you say so in the first place? You said, put the package out in the clear. Where's that, on this tippy-top of a hill?" Amos asked, looking about.
"The ledge near where we climbed up. That's big enough," Chris reminded him.
"Oh yes," Amos said, looking wise.
"Well," Chris took up again, "you put the package on the ledge and strike the ground three times—"
"Like this?" And before Chris could stop him, Amos had struck the earth beside him twice before Chris seized his hand in mid-air.
"Amos! Not now! I said only if you have to get away. If someone comes after you, or if I don't come back. Promise me not to strike three at all except for either of those two reasons."
Amos raised his right hand looking very solemn. "I promise," he said. "Only," he added, looking bewildered and already somewhat forlorn, "what happens when I do hit three times?"
"Why, it's a mag—it's a special kind of balloon," Chris began, after correcting what had almost been a bad slip.
"A what?" Amos stuck his head forward, trying hard to understand.
"A balloon. Oh."