That was a pretty good idea. The gravel I got wasn’t in my ears; mostly it was down my neck. I was full of it. I don’t suppose the railroad company ever missed what I took away, and I didn’t see any reason why I should carry it back, so I left a nice little pile of it on the sidewalk.
“Wish I could wash up,” says Mark.
“And I,” I says, cross-like, “wish you’d quit thinkin’ about how uncomfortable you are and start to thinkin’ about Uncle Hieronymous.”
“Binney,” says he, “d-d-don’t get het up. Think a minnit. Jiggins and Collins never saw Uncle Hieronymous, did they? Then they wouldn’t know him if they met him. And they d-don’t know where to look. They’ll never find him to-night. There hain’t such an awful hurry that I c-c-can’t get the gravel out of my hair.”
“I’ll bet they’re lookin’ for him right now.”
Mark sighed. “There hain’t any use in it,” says he, “but I s’pose I g-g-got to humor you. Come on.”
We went straight ahead till we came to a wide street with electric lights on it. Down to the right you could see stores and business buildings, so we turned that way, and a walk of three or four blocks took us downtown.
“Now,” says Mark, “where do we b-b-begin lookin’ for him?”
“Hotel,” says I, pointing across the street to one.
Mark looked. “No use askin’ there,” he says. “Uncle Hieronymous wouldn’t stay there.”