The lumberman pointed to a yellow-brick building about a block back. “There,” says he. “Up the stairs in a back room.”
“M-much obliged,” says Mark; and off we went hot-foot.
It was a case of hurry now, and hurry hard. Uncle Hieronymous was in the hands of the enemy, and his mine would be a goner if we didn’t get our heavy artillery to work in a jiffy. But we had a chance, and a good one.
We ran. I beat Mark to the top of the stairs, but he was puffing right at my heels. How he did puff! The stairs came up in a hallway that ran straight ahead to the back of the building and an outside door. Another hall ran crossways from one end of the building to the other.
“Now, where’s Siggins’s o-o-office?” says Mark.
He got an answer, too. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Collins stepped out of the door of the last office at the back of the building, the one on the left side of the hall. He saw us that very instant, and the way he came for us would have made a Comanche Indian proud. He swooped. I hadn’t any idea he could move so fast. Before we could open our mouths he had us by the collars and was hustling us down-stairs. In less than a second we were out on the sidewalk.
“Business before pleasure,” says Collins, with a twinkle in his eye. “I couldn’t stop to say howdy-do till we were down here.”
“You needn’t stop to say it now,” I says, mad all over.
“Now, Binney,” says he, “no hard feelings. We couldn’t have you mousing around up there—now, could we? If you were in my place wouldn’t you do just what I did?”
I suppose I would, but that didn’t have anything to do with it, that I could see.