Part 37 (1/2)
”Why?”
”'Cause his father was down with some kind of sickness in Central America and figgered he was goin' to die. The letter was two months old when I got it. It jest said he was goin' to die, and to get his son and take him to Henry Wigglesworth in Wicksville.”
”What made his father send you?” Mark says.
”Because him and me was pals in lots of places, and because he knew he could trust me to do what he asked. We been in a lot of pinches together.”
”Why was you to t-t-take Rock to Mr. Wigglesworth?”
”I dunno. Big Rock never told me.”
”Is Rock's father's n-n-name Rock, too?”
”Yes.”
”What else?”
”Rock Armitage,” says Pekoe.
”Huh!” says Mark in a sort of disappointed tone. Then in a second he says: ”What made you come back again? And how did the Man With the Black Gloves know you was comin' so as to l-l-lay for you?”
”I come back because-”
Just then Rock began to cough like the mischief, and we da.s.sent stop, but rushed right to the stairs. Rock looked up and motioned us back, and we could hear Jethro coming up the stairs from the ground floor. Rock hadn't signaled us quick enough so we could get down, and there we were, caught on the top floor of that house without any chance I could see but what we'd be caught by Jethro, and then there'd be a fine mess of fish.
But Mark he never stopped to think. He just grabbed my arm and hauled me back along the hall. We stopped back from the stairs and heard Jethro ask Rock what he was doing there, and Rock said he was just going to his room for something. And then Jethro started up to the third floor.
Well, if he got to the top of those stairs he'd see us, for there wasn't anything to hide us. Mark reached out quick and tried a door. It wasn't locked, thank goodness, and he jerked it open and in we popped. It was a stairway leading up to the attic or something, and you'd better believe we went up some fast and considerable quiet.
”Huh!” I whispered when we were up there. ”We're in a lovely boat now.
Four stories up.”
”I dunno,” says Mark. ”It might be worse.”
”Yes,” says I, ”we might be up _eight_ stories.”
”Anyhow,” says he, ”we're in the h-h-house.”
”Yes,” says I, ”and like to stay in it.”
CHAPTER XIX
We found out we were in a big attic that covered the whole of the house.
Part of it was floored over and part of it was just joists with the lath and plaster showing on the under side. It looked as if there was about an acre in it, and it was full of angles and brick chimneys and little, funny-shaped windows, and rubbish, and trunks and goodness knows what-except things to eat.
We were there, and no chance of getting out right away, so the idea of getting something to eat was one that came pretty quick. It went about as soon as it came.
”Guess we'll have to gnaw air,” says I, kind of down-hearted.