“Well,” says he, “use your b-brains. If you turn to the left what is there to go in?”
“Nothin’,” says I, looking over that way.
“If you turn to the right, what is there to g-g-goin?”
“Why,” says I, “the house is that way.”
“Well,” says he, “then I guess you t-turn to the right, don’t you? If directions tell you to go in, and there hain’t anythin’ to go into, why, then, you’re turnin’ wrong. Whatever it is we’re l-lookin’ for is in the house.”
“Looks that way,” says I.
“What doors are on the back of the house?” says Mark to Rock.
“Kitchen door, and a door that goes down cellar,” says Rock.
“The cellar d-d-door’s the one,” says Mark, “because the next word in the writin’ is ‘Down.’ You got to go in and down, which m-m-means you go in the cellar door and down cellar. We’re gettin’ it, Rock. I knew we would if we stuck to it long enough. Now we’ve got to get into that cellar. Can’t f-f-figger out the rest of that writin’ till we do.”
“If you say so,” says I, “I guess it must be so.” Maybe I was a little sarcastic, but he didn’t pay any attention to me; he was too interested. That’s the way with him. When he gets his mind settled down to thinking about a thing, you could shoot him out of a cannon and he wouldn’t pay any attention to it. Concentrate is what Tecumseh Androcles Spat calls it. He says Mark is one of the greatest concentrators he ever saw.