“Sure,” says he, without so much as the shadow of a smile. “They was askin’ for f-f-food, so I’m rubbin’ it into ’em. It was in this barrel.” He pointed to the big barrel I’d seen him rolling out.
I went over and looked. In the bottom of the barrel was about a pailful of some messy-looking stuff—soft soap or something like that.
“What’s the idee?” I asked him.
“M-makin’ the stairs easy to walk up,” says he.
I didn’t quite understand, but it wasn’t very many hours before I understood good and plenty—and it was one of the slickest sights Mark Tidd ever arranged.
Mark went right on daubing the messy stuff on the stairs as thick as he could get it, while Plunk kept poking away at the knife a Japanese was trying to cut the rope with.
“I wish that rope was wire,” says I. “It wouldn’t be so easy to cut.”
Mark straightened up and looked at me. “Tallow,” says he, “that idee was worth your board for the rest of the summer. There’s a coil of w-w-wire clothes-line hangin’ up in there. Get it.”
I found it hanging on a nail and brought it along. By that time Mark was done daubing, and he took the wire and rigged it alongside the rope to the stairs that led up to the third floor.
“We’ll use the r-rope to haul up the stairs,” says he, “if it gets so we have to h-haul ’em up. Then we’ll f-f-fasten ’em with the wire. Tallow, I’m proud of you. You’re promoted. For this wire idee I dub thee knight. Git down on your knees.”