“Us favors mo’ fresh air, too,” Pap snickered.
“I done got ’em sawed loose—mighty nigh,” Mobile said. “Dey’s sawed plum’ across on de sides an’ de bottom, but dey ain’t sawed on de top. You reckon us-all is got muscle enough to ketch holt dat gratin’ an’ bend her in or shove her out?”
“Shorely!” Mustard asserted eagerly. “I kin heft a bale of cotton an’ tote it up de gang-plank of a steamboat.”
The three stood up in the window with their feet resting on the sill.
They stooped and caught hold of the grating at the lower end, and leaning backward, they lifted up and in. Under that mighty strain, the iron grating attached to the masonry by four bars at the top slowly bent and left an opening underneath large enough to allow their bodies to pass through.
The three lost no time in climbing out. They had gone around to the front of the jail when Mustard stopped.
“Hol’ on dar, Mobile,” he muttered. “I done ferget my cawnet-hawn an’ lef’ it in de jail. I needs dat hawn.”
“Leave it be,” Mobile advised.
“I done fergot my trombone-hawn,” Pap added. “Go back an’ git ’em fer us, Mustard.”
“Naw,” Mobile protested. “I got plenty money. I’ll pay you fer ’em.”