“Just stick your nose out in front of you and walk toward my voice,” says I, which he did, and then he found it.
“It’s the fish shanty—where we hid our treasure,” says he.
“No,” says I, “this is too hard. This is an awful hard building. Must be built of ironwood.”
“Feel around for the door,” says he, “and we’ll go in and light a candle, or a flash, and see what’s up.”
“Have you got a candle?” says I.
“No,” says he.
“Well,” says I, “I quit the practice of carrying candles around quite a while ago.”
“Oh, dry up,” says he, “I borrowed Naboth’s flashlight. We can pretend it’s a candle. Back in pirate days they didn’t have flashlights.”
“So these are pirate days?” says I. “There you go shifting time on me again. I thought this was a trench raid in the war.”
“It was,” says he, “but now it’s a scouting party after a pirate lair—so the flash has got to be a candle.”