Jiggins never said a word. Then Uncle Hieronymous put Collins down on his feet.
“Easy, now,” he told him. “Stand without hitchin’, mister.” Then he turned to Mark and me. “What in tunket be you boys doin’ here?” he asked, looking puzzled and sort of vague. “Didn’t I leave you back to Baldwin, eh? Didn’t I?”
“Have you signed anything?” asked Mark.
“Nary thing,” says Uncle Hieronymous.
“Hurray!” says Mark, and I joined in.
“What’s all this rumpus about?” uncle asked, wagging his head and tugging at his mustache.
Jiggins pushed past me and tried to speak, but uncle looked at him queer-like, and says:
“Mister, I guess you better let this here boy talk a spell. Seems like I’m hankerin’ to hear him worse’n I be you.”
“But—” says Jiggins.
“I don’t want to speak to you noways but kind,” says uncle, beginning to frown a little, “but it runs in my head you been up to somethin’, mister. Now you jest keep still till Marcus Tidd gits in his say.”