“Maybe not.”
“Well, anyway, you’d have to take out a couple of stones to fit a box of that size in, and then you couldn’t get the stones back. I’m so innocent I didn’t know how big a bait-box was. I thought maybe you wear them around your neck like a locket.”
“Yes, you didn’t!”
“Well,” said Brent, “at least one thing is proved. The box is not in that well. If that’s a bait-box, and if other bait-boxes are like it, why, then, the money is not in that well. I think I can say I know that well as well as anybody; I lived in it several centuries.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” said Tom, somewhat impressed, “then, where is it?”
“Are you asking me?”
“There’s nothing for us to do,” said Tom, “but wait around and see if that John Mink doesn’t come back here.”
“I’m enjoying my vacation,” said Brent.
Tom seemed nettled. “Yes, but it must be somewhere,” he said. “I’m going to clear out the gully all the way to Conner’s and search it thoroughly.”
“Look out for snakes; remember they have the right of way. Have another sliver of bacon?”