“I been workin’ on ’em,” says Mark. “Got a lot of l-letters out now. Ought to hear somethin’ right away. If I don’t we’ll have to git out and h-hustle.” Well, he stood over Silas Doolittle like a hungry cat watching a mouse-hole until Silas got finished up with the dowel-machinery and it was running. When the little pegs began to come through Mark was satisfied. “Now for Jason,” says he. “Jason’s one of them spirit fellers,” says I. “How’s that?” says Binney. “Believes spooks comes monkeyin’ around a feller,” says I. “Goes to them mediums and gits to talk to his grandfather’s aunt’s sister’s poodle-dog that died the year of Valley Forge,” says I. “And he hears rappin’s on the wall, and pencils writes on slates when nobody is around, and sich cunnin’ things.” “What’s a medium?” says Tallow. “Why,” says I, “you know what a medium is! Anybody knows. I wouldn’t let on I didn’t know what one was. Folks would think I didn’t know much.” “Oh,” says he, “is _that_ so? Well, if you’re so doggone wise, what is a medium? Jest tell me that. Jest say right out what one is, and what it does, and what wages it gits for doin’ it, if it’s so easy.” “Well,” says I, “when you have roast beef, how do you like it?” “Cooked,” says Binney. “Well done or rare or what?” says I. “Medium,” says Tallow. “There,” says I. “You see.” “I don’t see nothin’,” says he. “What’s roast beef got to do with spirits?” “It hain’t the meat,” says I, “but the word. You said ‘medium,’ didn’t you? Well, that’s what we was talkin’ about.” “Huh!” says he, and sort of scowled. “Medium. That means half-cooked, don’t it? It means the meat hain’t raw and hain’t done. Kind of red-like,” says he. “Well,” says I, “that’s what a medium is, hain’t it?” “What? Red?” “Some of ’em is red,” says I. “There’s Injun spirits. Most mediums I ever heard of is on speakin’ terms with a Injun spirit named Laughin’ Water.” “What kind of a way is it to call ‘red’ ‘medium’? How would I look sayin’ the Brownses’ house was medium when I meant it was red? Folks would think I was crazy.” “It don’t mean red, exactly,” says I. “Well, then, what _does_ it mean?” “It sort of means ‘not quite.’ See? Not quite raw and not quite cooked.” “Middlin’?” says Tallow. “Why, yes,” says I, “that’s about it! Standin’ in the middle.” “Middle of what?” says Binney. “Middle of a crowd of spirits, of course,” says I. “Well, why in tunket couldn’t you have said so right off without so much palaver?” “I had to explain it to you gradual,” says I, “or you wouldn’t ever have catched the idea.” “Did Jason ever see one of them spirits?” says Tallow. “Claims he’s seen dozens,” says I. “Was he scairt?” “Accordin’ to his tell he got consid’able chummy with ’em,” says I. “He was braggin’ up to the grocery how they come and pulled his ears and stuck their fingers down his back and called him by his first name.” “If I was a spirit,” says Binney, “I’ll bet I could git more fun than pullin’ Jason’s ears.”