Part 39 (2/2)
CHAPTER XX
About all we could do now until Jethro was safe in bed was to sit around and wish he'd go early. If I was going to pick out the worst job in the world, it would be a waiting job. I don't know why it is, but when you're waiting time goes along about a dozen times as slow as it does any other time. If it hadn't been for Mark Tidd and his make-believes I guess I'd have gone plumb crazy.
”Say,” says I, after a while, ”I know there's some sort of a mystery about Rock, but what d'you s'pect it is? From them photographs you was so glad to find I guessed maybe you figgered he was Mr. Wigglesworth's son.”
”Shucks!” says he. ”And you mustn't speak about the young Duke as Rock.
'Tain't respectful. Earl Wigglesworth's son! Shucks! Anybody could see that b-baby in the photographs was a girl. Besides, didn't this p-prisoner Pekoe say he was a son of the man called the Big Duke, that's off huntin' for the Holy Grail or s-s-somethin' in far countries?”
”Sure,” says I, ”so he did.”
We didn't say anything for a spell, and then I asked: ”If the young Duke hain't a son of Earl Wigglesworth's, why was he fetched here? What int'rest did the Earl Wigglesworth have in him, anyhow?”
”That,” says Mark, ”is exactly what we got to f-f-find out. Hain't you s-satisfied with havin' a dandy mystery? Want to spoil it by s-s-solvin'
it without any trouble? What good's a m-m-mystery unless it's mysterious?” says he.
That did sound reasonable.
”S'posin',” says Mark, ”that the young Duke wasn't jest the Duke, but was ent.i.tled to be somethin' more. Maybe king or some job like that. And s'posin', while his father, the Big Duke, was off c-c-chasin' this Holy Grail, that enemies s-stole him away, and there wasn't any way to p-prove he was the rightful king. See? And s'posin' this Earl Wigglesworth he had somethin' to prove it by, but didn't dare to b-burn it up or any thin'. And when he come to die he r-r-repented his bad deeds. And then he wrote that p-p-paper showin' where the p-papers to prove the Duke was ent.i.tled to be king was hid. That's how I f-f-figger it. Now, we faithful retainers of the Duke has got to r-recover them papers and fix it so's the Duke comes into what's rightfully hisn.
Hain't that about it?”
”Shouldn't be s'prised,” says I. ”But seems to me like the Big Duke was mighty careless to go off chasin' that Grail, whatever _that_ is, and leave his son layin' around loose for anybody to steal.”
”These here chivalrous knights,” says Mark, ”was always doin' them foolish things. If they hadn't,” says he, ”there wouldn't have been any s-s-stories. Seems l-like every knight was a l-little crazy. All I ever read about did things that was so silly you'd lick a p-puppy for not knowin' better than they did.”
”What's this Grail you was talkin' about?”
”It's a cup,” says Mark, ”and I guess it's a magic cup or somethin', near's I kin judge. It's got a way of wanderin' around all by itself and hidin' away. Feller named Galahad up and f-found it once. His dad's name was Launcelot, and he was the biggest knight that ever was.”
”What did this Galy-had do with it?” says I.
”Oh,” says Mark, ”I calc'late he just _f-found_ it-and let it go at t-t-that. Just like a knight. Spend a year l-lookin' for a thing, and when he f-finds it, instead of takin' it home to put on the what-not and show to folks, he jest says, 'I spy,' and gallops off again.”
”Looks silly,” says I.
”Was s-silly,” says he.
”Say,” says I, after thinking the thing over a while, ”it just come into my head that us fellers was pokin' our heads into somethin' that didn't concern us. What we monkeyin' with this mystery for, anyhow?”
”Binney,” says Mark, ”you s'prise me. Hain't we newspaper men? Well!
Hain't it the b-business of newspaper men to git the news?”
”You bet,” says I.
”And won't the answer to this m-mystery be the b-biggest news ever p-printed in a Wicksville paper?”
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