Mark Tidd, Editor Part 15

And right there Tallow Martin let out a sneeze. I knew it was Tallow, because there ain't a man, woman, child, horse, cow, or mule in Wicksville that could enter a sneezing match with him and even get second prize. Tallow would get all the prizes if there was a dozen.

"What's that?" says the Knight.

"Sneeze," says the other man.

"Somebody's around here-listening," says the Knight. "It came from that way. Quick! After them."

Off they went, tearing into the bushes, and we could hear Plunk and Tallow get up and flounder away. Mark was disgusted.

"Tallow," says he, "ought to train his nose to be quiet, or sell it to a lighthouse for a foghorn. Now the fat's in the f-f-fire."

"They'll never catch those kids," says I.

"Not likely to," says he, "but they'll be on their guard now. They know somebody was listenin'-and if somebody was l-listenin' it means somebody was suspicious of 'em."

"Looks that way," says I, "but what do we suspect 'em of?"

"I don't know," says he, "but it's somethin' to do with Mr. Wigglesworth and that kid."

"Sure," says I, "but let's not worry about that right now. Let's make tracks while they're gone."

"Can't leave Plunk and Tallow," says he. "Maybe they n-n-need help."

That was Mark all over. He'd stick to you like a corn-plaster, and he wouldn't quit sticking till he'd got you out of any fix you were in. Of course I couldn't go off, either, and not know what had happened, so we climbed out of the mud and started into the woods after the men.

We didn't go far, though, before we heard them coming back, and laid down behind some bushes till they were past. They didn't have any captives, so we knew the kids were safe.

"Well," says Mark, when it was safe to move along again, "we know one thing. We know where our master, the Duke, is imprisoned."

"Oh," says I, "do we?"

"Yes," says he, "he's shut up in Castle Wigglesworth, and they won't l-let him use his own name, but call him Rock. The next thing on our program is to t-t-try to get a chance to talk to him and l-look over the lay of the land."

We went on back to the printing-office as quick as we could, and Plunk and Tallow were there looking pretty scratched up and dilapidated, and frightened a little, I guess. Mark didn't say a word about Tallow's sneezing, though Tallow looked pretty guilty. But Mark knew Tallow didn't do it on purpose, and he never lit into a fellow much, anyhow. If you did something that was wooden-headed he might look at you so you'd wish the floor would open up and let you through, but that would be all.

Oh, he was a bully fellow to go into things with, all right.

"Now," says he, "we b-better get to bed. To-morrow Binney and I are goin' to Wigglesworth Castle to t-try to see the Duke and to get a squint at that p-puzzle paper he's got. Maybe there's somethin'

important in it. Bet there is."

And we all headed for home.

CHAPTER VIII

"What's in the box?" says I to Mark Tidd next morning, when we had started out toward what he was still calling Castle Wigglesworth.

"Did you f-f-fetch a lunch?" says he.

"No," says I.

"Didn't think you would," says he, "so I f-fetched enough for two."

I looked at the box. Honest, it reminded me more of a piano box than anything else; anyhow, of a good-sized packing-case.

"Is that full?" says I.

"Couldn't git in another crumb," says he.

"How long you plannin' to stay?"

"Home 'fore supper."

"And that's just lunch!" says I.

"Nothin' but a s-snack," says he. "Didn't put in a thing but six pieces of apple p-p-pie and eight ham sandriches and a few fried-cakes, and three-four bananas, and a l-little hunk of cake, and some f-f-fried chicken, and a h-hunk of bread in case we didn't have enough sandriches, and some b-b.u.t.ter-"

"And a barrel of flour," says I, "and a crate of eggs, and a crock of baked beans, and a side of bacon-"

"Huh!" says he. "I guess there won't be much l-left."

"I wonder," says I, "if they let our Duke go prancin' around outdoors, or do they keep him shut up in a dongeon?"

"Can't never tell about this crowd," says Mark. "They're l-liable to do 'most anythin'. I calc'late, though, he'll be let out some, with a strong guard."

"If the guard's around, how'll we git to talk to him?"

"That's what we got to f-find out," says he.

We got to where we could see Mr. Wigglesworth's house-the castle, I should say-along about nine o'clock. It was a big place with porches and lots of windows and curlicues and gables and wings, and such like. I can't ever see what one old man ever did with all of it. It was in the middle of a whopping yard that was beginning to look run down. The gra.s.s hadn't been cut as often as it ought to have been, and things was beginning to grow up in the gravel walk. In a month more it would look like one of those houses where n.o.body lives.

There was a hedge all along the front higher than my head, but when we had crept up close I poked my head through and had a good look. It was a funny kind of a place. Sort of a menagerie, only the animals weren't alive. There were some deer and a big dog and a cat and a lion-all made out of stone or something.

"Huh!" says I. "If _I_ was goin' to keep pets I'll bet they'd be the kind I could teach tricks to. What good 's a stone dog, _I'd_ like to know."

"It's art," says Mark.

"Oh," says I, "it is, eh? I thought art was daubin' paint on a piece of cloth, and then puttin' a gold frame around it."

"Anythin's art," says Mark, "that hain't good for nothin' but to look at."

"Then," says I, "I hain't art."

"No," says Mark, "but you come m-mighty clost to it."

"Where d'you s'pose the Duke is?" says I, changing the subject because I couldn't see any use talking about art any more. I wasn't interested in art. "I don't see no guards," says I, "and I don't see the Duke."