The crowd gathered about him in a circle, clapping their hands, dancing about, and shouting like “rooters” at a baseball game in the oft-quoted case of “the ninth inning, two out, score a tie,” etc. And never did a batter “lam her out” with more vigor than the treasure-hunting scholar “lammed her” into that ground.
They reached the two-foot mark, and then began the same trouble of inability to reach the bottom.
“Better make it bigger, b’gee,” laughed Dewey. “Don’t give up. If it don’t work this time, b’gee, we’ll light every other lamp in the place and try their shadows. And then——”
And then with an exclamation of excitement the Parson sprang back.
“I’ve struck something!” he cried.
“Whoop!” roared the crowd chuckling. “We’ve found the treasure! Hooray!”
“It’s hard,” panted the excited Stanard.
“It’s as hard as a rock, isn’t it?” said Mark, with a sly wink. And then he added under his breath, “A rock it is.”
But the Parson was too busy to hear that. He was working feverishly, plunging his spade into the ground, flinging out the earth, occasionally hitting the object with a sharp sound that made him get more overjoyed and the rest get more convulsed with laughter.
Truly the solemn Parson digging a trench was a most ludicrous sight; his next move was more ludicrous still. He got down on his stomach, flat, and reached into the ground.