“Turbine,” he says, “after all—”
“Bosh!” says Mr. Whiteley. “The men have disappeared, and the engine with them.”
Mark pointed off across the river where Batten and Bill were landing out of their boat. “There they go,” he said, “and they ain’t got the turbine with them that I can see.”
Uncle Ike was grinning as hard as he could grin, and looking at Mr. Whiteley out of the corner of his eye.
“What’s that? What’s that?” my father asks.
“It’s Henry C. Batten and Bill,” says Mark, “and the turbine—well, you come along with me. I g-guess maybe we’ll find it.”
Uncle Ike roared out loud and slapped Mr. Whiteley on the back. “I told you,” says he. “Slicker’n greased lightnin’. Yes, sir, you can’t git ahead of that boy—him with his signs and signals and what-not.”
“Mark,” says I, in a whisper, “the turbine’s gone.”
He looked at me kind of blank a minute and then grinned.
“Gone, is it?” says he. “Kind of lucky it was gone, too, wasn’t it? Eh?” He looked awful self-satisfied, and it kind of roiled me.