"Honest, Porky—" said Beany, then he stopped. He certainly was proud of Porky but decided not to tell him so.
Porky chuckled. He knew what his brother was thinking. "Some little nut, eh?" he asked, patting his own head.
"Tell better after you have tried it," growled Beany, shinning up the post nearest him. Porky started after him.
"Wait!" said Beany. "We will have to have a chair. You can't reach high enough."
It was difficult to get one of the massive carved chairs aloft. They had to tear the bedding into ropes and pull it up in that way; but once on the top, Porky shinned hastily up and mounted it. He was rather quicker at telegraphy than Beany.
He wrapped his handkerchief around the blade of the long sword, so he could grasp it, and beat heavily on the paneled ceiling. Then he shook his head.
"Listen to that!" he complained. "That loose panel will have to come down. You couldn't hear that little clack a foot away. Steady me."
He handed the sword to Beany and, springing up, clutched the loose sagging edge of woodwork in his lean, muscular hands. It sprung up and down under his weight, but did not give.
"Grab my feet and pull!" he ordered over his shoulder.
Beany obeyed.