Well, old-man Fugle grumbled and complained quite a lot, and says we was trying to cheat him, though I don’t see how he figgered it, and says he was going to have the law on us, or anyhow get our folks to lick us for being sassy; but finally he went back in the house and brought back a piece of paper he must have been saving up for eighteen or twenty years, with some scratches on it that he said was writing. Mark lit a match and read it over careful, and said it was all right, and handed over the money. Old-man Fugle counted it eleven times, and every time he made it come out different. Sometimes he got six dollars too much, and sometimes he got thirty cents too little. He kicked up enough fuss to have started a riot with. But after a while he let on he was satisfied, and told us to git out of there and quit disturbing him and let him go to sleep, and we was a measly passel of boys that was coming to a bad end, anyhow. That’s the thanks we got out of that old coot for paying him a lot of money. On the way back Mark says let’s play Injun some more, but I put my foot down and says I wouldn’t. I had enough Injuns for that night and wanted to play something peaceful and soothing. “All right,” says he. “Let’s play we’re a band of fugitives a-fleein’ from the wrath of a wicked knight that’s burned our castle and wants to put us in a dungeon and hack us to pieces with an ax, a finger to a time, till our f-faithful retainers raises a m-million dollars to pay our ransom.” That was his idee of a peaceful and soothing game! Well, we didn’t play that, neither, nor anything else. I curled up on my half of the seat and went to sleep. Binney was on the seat with me, and he went to sleep, too, but Mark and Tallow kept awake and drove. Next morning Tallow told me Mark was showing him how to drive all the way, which made Tallow kind of mad, because he thought he was a better driver than the man in the circus that drives the chariot in the race. He said Mark was inventing new ways to drive, and trying to think up some new kind of a thing to get old Willie to go faster. He wanted to have Tallow hitch old Willie with his nose to the surrey and his tail pointing toward home. It was his idee that Willie could go faster backing up than going ahead. CHAPTER IX “Now old-man Fugle’s off our m-m-minds,” says Mark Tidd, next morning, “and things is goin’ p-perty good here, we got time to give to Jason Barnes.” “Fine!” says I, and Tallow and Binney agreed with me as enthusiastic as could be. “What’s the scheme?” says Tallow. “Dunno yet. Got to git one up. Anyhow, I don’t want to do much till Silas Doolittle gits that d-dowel-machinery to goin’. If he was left alone he wouldn’t finish up on it till a year from Christmas.” “Yes,” says I, “and what about that other turned stock that’s pilin’ up in the warehouse? Them drumsticks and tenpins. And perty soon we’ll have a stack of bowls, too. Hadn’t we better git to sellin’ them?”