“If it’ll do any good,” says I.
“It may,” says he.
We went back to the fence and climbed to the top of it. Right here came the first piece of luck we’d had for a long time: there was a painter’s ladder in that yard lying against the barn.
In a minnit we had it up against the side and were scrambling to the roof. In two minnits we were perched on the ridge-pole, looking across at the window of the office where Uncle Hieronymous was shut in with Jiggins and the lawyer.
“What good is this?” I says.
“Attract his attention,” says Mark.
“How?”
“Yell,” says he.
I did. “Uncle Hieronymous!” I hollered, as loud as I could. “Uncle Hieronymous!”
If the window across had been open it might have been all right, but, as it was, nothing happened at all. I tried again. It didn’t do a bit of good.