“How about them newspapers in the cellar, kid?” Nickie suggested. “We can pin ’em up against there while we work.”
“Pin ’em with what? Gee whiz, use your bean.”
“Yeah, you’re right, kid. We gotta get wet an’ like it.”
“Not if you wanna quit till tomorrow. An’ I don’t like to do that, Nickie. Sump’n tells me do what we can tonight.”
“Just’s you say, kid. I’m gettin’ so’s I feel you’re a reg’lar mascot—see? I ain’t doin’ nothin’ without you sayin’ it’s K. O.”
Skippy grinned and took his turn at the window. The thunder was rolling away into the distance but the heat lightning blazed across the black sky at frequent intervals. The moaning wind echoed back and forth mournfully and the rain made a hissing noise as it lashed the window sill.
Fallon had pulled the trunk as near the window as possible. He made a doleful picture sitting there, the lantern held at arm’s length so as to give Skippy light. His pale face was in a half-shadow and his narrow shoulders drooped dejectedly. Suddenly he looked up and his black eyes were questioning.
“Hear a noise, kid?”
Skippy stopped his tugging at the top bar and shook his head. “What kinda noise?”
“Like somebuddy runnin’. Maybe I’m crazy—just hearin’ things.”