“What color is a brick?” says Mark, and heaved a big sigh of relief.
“Kin you reach it?” says I.
“No,” says he. “Here, step on my back.”
He stooped over, and I stepped where he told me. It was like standing on a platform to speak a piece, his back was so broad. I thought a little of the feller in the Arabian Nights that got off on an island and built a fire, and then the island dived, because it was a whale. Only Mark didn’t dive.
I reached up and fumbled with the brick. It was wedged pretty tight, but it wasn’t plastered. I got a holt of the edge with my nails and wiggled and monkeyed with it, till it came out, and then I shoved my arm back into the hole that was left—and my fingers touched something that felt like a big envelope full of something. I hauled it out and jumped down.
“There,” says I, “we got somethin’, but much good it’s likely to do us.”
Mark was almost jumping up and down he was so tickled. He held the envelope up to the light, and read on it, “Take this envelope to Lawyer Jones or some other trustworthy lawyer.”
“Jest what I’d ’a’ done, anyhow,” says he.
Then he stuffed the paper inside of his shirt, and stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled three times. When Jethro and the Man heard that they stopped working at the door, but when nothing else happened they went at it again.
We waited, too. Quite a while went past, and the only thing we heard was Jethro and the Man.