Mark Tidd, Editor Part 38

"Why?" says I.

"All those p-pictures," says he, "has the names of the photographers on 'em, and the p-places where they was taken. We can go there or write there, and t-trace back somethin' about Mr. Wigglesworth's family."

But we hadn't seen all the alb.u.m yet. There was, farther on, a picture of Mrs. Wigglesworth (at least we guessed it must be Mrs. Wigglesworth) with a baby on her lap, and Mark was like to jump out of his skin.

"I knew it m-must be," says he. "We're gettin' hot," says he.

After that came a lot of pictures of a kid-a girl, and she kept getting older and older, until the last one showed she was maybe eighteen or nineteen, somewheres around there-about as old as a school-teacher, maybe. And then there wasn't any more of her, and there wasn't any more of Mrs. Wigglesworth, either.

But Mark was satisfied. "Look at that last p-picture," says he. "Who d-does it resemble?"

"n.o.body I kin see," says I.

"All right," says he; "jest wait."

"I hain't got anythin' else to do," says I, "so I might 's well."

He stepped back and almost went off of the floor and stepped on the lath and plaster between the joists.

"Lookout!" says I. "You'll go right through."

He slapped his knee. "Right t-through!" says he. "Ain't we fat-heads?

Say, Pekoe's room's over about there, hain't it?" says he, pointing across the attic.

"Somewheres," says I.

"Anyhow," says he, "we hain't been wastin' time."

He went to the back of the house and paced off toward the front.

"I calc'late Pekoe's room is about under here," says he, and got down on his knees and began working cautious at the plaster between two laths with his knife. He picked and picked, and at last got a hole through about as big around as a lead-pencil, then he got down on his stummick and looked through it.

"Mr. Pekoe," says he.

"What?" says Pekoe's voice, kind of m.u.f.fled-like.

"We're h-here," says Mark, "up in the attic. Jethro's got us cornered, but he don't know it."

"That's where you're ahead of me," says he; "Jethro's got me cornered and he _does_ know it."

"Tell me all you know about Rock and his f-f-father," says Mark.

"Don't know much about Rock," says Pekoe, "except that his father always kept him in school, and sometimes had pretty hard work to find the money to pay for it. Mostly Big Rock was in South America or Alaska or Burma or Africa or somewheres, trying to find a gold mine or a diamond mine, or somethin'. He never got to the United States at all. He wasn't a feller that talked much, but when it came to _acting_ well, you can bet he was right there. There never was a squarer pal than Big Rock, and there's men that loves him from Nome to Cape Town."

"Where was Rock's m-m-mother?"

"Big Rock never mentioned her, but I knew she was dead. Been dead since Rock was a little baby. Guess that's why Big Rock went to globe-trottin'."

"You don't know her name?"

"Never heard it."

"And Big Rock's d-dead now?"

"Not by a jugful," says Pekoe. "I thought he was, and he thought he was goin' to be, but I got a letter from him a week ago, and he says he got over that sickness, and for me not to take Rock to Wicksville if I hadn't, and if I had, to git him back again, because he didn't want the boy to go there while he was alive. He says he didn't want to be beholdin' to a man while there was a chance of keepin' away from it. The way he wrote made me think he had some sort of a grudge ag'in' this Mr.

Wigglesworth."

"And that's all you know?"

"Every livin' thing," says he.

"All right," says Mark. "Now we won't t-talk any more, 'cause Jethro might hear. We're g-goin' to git away, and we'll git you away as soon as we kin. I guess things is g-goin' to happen around here perty sudden."

"Hope so," says Pekoe. "They would happen sudden if Big Rock was to show up."

"Good-by," says Mark, "till we see you again."

"Now," says I, "let's figger on how we're goin' to escape from the dungeon."

"'Tain't a d-dungeon," says Mark. "We're shut up in the tower of the Knight we've been f-fightin'. There's men-at-arms crowdin' all around, and the drawb-bridge is up and the moat's full of water. I guess he's holdin' us for ransom."

"If I don't git somethin' to eat perty soon," says I, "he won't have anythin' _to_ ransom."

"Food," says Mark, "hain't to be thought about in sich circ'mstances.

Here we be shut in the same t-tower with the young Duke that we're liegemen of, and his father's retainer, the Knight Pekoe. What's food compared with sich things?"

"Even a Duke," says I, "wouldn't be much good if he didn't eat for a week or two. I guess they'd be lookin' for a new Duke to take his job."

"The b-best of it," says Mark, "is that the Duke's secret is hid in this Castle Wigglesworth. If we could git it we could rescue the Duke and the Knight would wish he hadn't ever been born."

"You hain't figgerin' on tryin' to follow up that paper thingumbob of Mr. Wigglesworth's, be you?"

"We're inside the castle," says Mark, "and the enemy don't know it.

Never have a b-better chance to snoop around, if we wait till after dark."

"Without nothin' to eat," says I.

He jest sniffed.

"And," says I, "with the risk of this Knight Jethro findin' us snoopin'."

"You hain't s-s-scairt, be you?" says he.

"I hain't what you'd call easy in my mind," says I.

"All right," says he. "If that's the way you f-f-feel, we'll jest escape, and I'll git Plunk or Tallow to come back with me when we can git a chanct."

"You won't," says I, "because so long as I'm here I might as well stick.

If them kids can do it, I guess I can."