And then Bill limped over; he had left his crutch on the hillside, and he said, half laughing:
"This wall, Mr. Hooper, can't give way, even if it had the ocean behind it, unless the stone and cement were mashed and crumbled by pressure. The only thing that could break it would be about two days' hammering with a sledge, or a big charge of blasting powder, and even that couldn't do a great deal of damage."
"All right, me lad; you ought to know an' I believe you."
Mr. Hooper's genial good humor returned to him immediately; it was evident that he was from time to time unpleasantly influenced by the soft and ready tongue of his nephew. The old gentleman turned toward home and disappeared; a short time afterward Thad came and stood near where Gus was working, but he said nothing, nor did Gus address him. Then the slim youth also departed and hardly half an hour elapsed before down the hill came Grace and Skeets, the latter stumbling several times, nearly pitching headlong and yet most mirthful over her own near misfortune; but little Miss Hooper seemed unusually serious-minded. A lively exchange of jests and jolly banter commenced between Skeets and Gus, who could use his tongue if forced to; but presently Grace left her laughing chum and came over to where Bill had resumed his inspection.
"They can't hear us, can they?" she queried, glancing back at the others.
"Why, I expect not," Bill replied, surprised and mystified.
"If I say something to you, real confidentially, you won't give me away, will you? Honest, for sure?"
"Honest, I won't; cross my heart; wish I may die; snake's tongue; butcher knife bloody!"
"That ought to do, and anybody with any sense would believe you, anyway.
But, then, it will be a big temptation for you—"
"Resistance is my nickname; you may trust me."