“Here. Take these and hide back of the f-f-fence.”
Then he gave Binney and Plunk some funny-looking pieces of steel to carry, and snatched some other things himself, and we all sneaked out through the back gate and crouched down behind the fence out of sight.
“Father’s goin’ to s-show him the shop,” whispered Mark. “I guess the feller was fixin’ to git a squint at these things. If he was it’s all right, and if he wasn’t no harm’s done.”
In about two shakes of a lamb’s tail Mr. Tidd and the stranger came out of the shop and went inside. We had our ears to the wall and could hear how Mr. Tidd was being taffied by the man, and we could tell by the way he answered back that he was getting to like the stranger more and more every minute. Butter wouldn’t melt in that man’s mouth. He was as full of compliments as an old grist-mill is of rats.
After a while we heard Mr. Tidd say:
“I dunno’s there’d be any objection to your lookin’ at my drawin’s and patterns and stuff. ’Twon’t do no harm, I calc’late.”
The man didn’t say anything, and pretended he wasn’t paying attention. We could hear Mr. Tidd moving around, and then he stopped still, and I knew he was scratching his head, though I couldn’t see him, because he always scratches his head when he can’t figure out just what’s going on.
“I swan,” he said, kind of vague and wondering, “I’d ’a’ bet I left them things right here; I’d ’a’ bet a cookie. But they ain’t here—not a sign of ’em. Now, ain’t that the beatenist? I must ’a’ carted ’em off some place without thinkin’. Um! Hum!... Where’n tunket could it ’a’ been?”
“What seems to be the matter?” asked the stranger, and his voice sounded anxious to me. It did to Mark, too, because he nudged me.
“I’ve up and mislaid my drawin’s and things,” said Mr. Tidd, sounding like he was apologizing. “Ain’t that the dumbest thing! I’m always a-layin’ things around and forgettin’ ’em.”