“He’d ha’ Found It Out, if It Hadn’t been for Me”
“You’re a trump, Zeb,” shouted Bar. “I wondered myself how it was he failed to see that, dark as it was, when they had so many lanterns. But there they were, all of them looking up and couldn’t see it.”
“Brayton’s was the only good pair of eyes among ’em,” said Zeb, “and he was looking up, too, most of the time. But will it toll again?”
“How should I know?” asked Bar.
“Look here,” exclaimed Zeb; “there isn’t another chap in or about Ogleport that can do that belfry climbing. Brayton understands that as well as I do.”
“I’m afraid he does,” said Val, thoughtfully. “If there should be a wind this afternoon, now?”
“Oh! that’s it, is it?” exclaimed Zeb. “Why didn’t I think of that before? I give it up. You fellows beat me. To think that I should never have thought of the wind!”
There was little more to be done except to explain the exact particulars, and when Bar had done that, Zeb stopped in front of him and removed from his head the broad-brimmed and somewhat battered “straw,” saying,
“Barnaby Vernon, you can take my hat. I think I must emigrate.”