“For cat’s sake!” says Tallow.
Mark grinned. “You said it t-that time. ‘The boy was talkin’ through his hat,’” he quoted from our poem. “Maybe he was—and maybe not. I was lookin’ for somethin’ like this. Now, how about cats that don’t stir, eh? Guess this cat looks the same way all the time. Don’t it?”
“Mark,” says I, “how did you ever think of it?”
“It had to be this kind of a c-c-cat,” says he; “that was p-plain enough.”
“Where she looks she walks,” says Plunk. “Let’s walk.”
“Nix,” says Mark. “Jethro might be l-l-lookin’. We want to foiler out this thing on the quiet—and we’ll do it, you bet. We know where to start from, and that’s the hardest part of it.” He turned to Rock, “I guess we’re goin’ to haul you out of this scrape,” says he, “sooner or later.... Now we got to git for h-home. I got work to do.”
CHAPTER XIV
“Listen,” says Mark Tidd that night.
“We’ve got to w-w-wake up and do some-thin’ with this newspaper.”
“Huh!” says I. “I thought we had been doin’ somethin’. Dunne’s I ever worked harder in my life.”