“You want to find out if I’ve got the flashlight?” he said. “No, I don’t want to find out if you’ve got your flashlight,” I said, “because I know you have. I’m not that kind. First you have to say I didn’t speak about the splinter for that reason,” I said; “you have to take back what you said.” “I never said you were sneaky,” he said; “here, take it.” “It’s no crime to have a flashlight, I hope,” he said; “here take it.” “I wouldn’t try to find out that way,” I told him. “I know you wouldn’t,” he said. So then he held his flashlight to my finger and I said, “What do you know about that? I’m carrying a lumber yard around with me. I _thought_ I felt kind of heavy.” “Have you got a needle?” he asked. “A crowbar would be better,” I told him. “Hold still,” he said, and then he just pulled it out with his fingers. “That ought to be worth a couple of dollars, hey?” I said, “with the high cost of timber.” So then we both laughed. Anyway, Dorry and I were always good friends, you can bet. He was just going to turn off the flashlight, when I noticed that piece of newspaper sticking out of his jacket pocket and I pulled it out, just kind of half joking, and I said, “Here’s what I want. Gaylong said I could read it.” Gee whiz, there wasn’t any harm in that. Oftentimes I’d do things like that with fellows, and especially Dorry, because I’d known him so long. “You put that back,” he said, kind of mad. “What’s the use of getting mad?” I said. “You’re grouchy because you can’t sleep. Here, let’s have your flashlight.” And I just grabbed that out of his pocket, too. I guess he was going to grab them both away from me; anyway, it seemed that way for a couple of seconds. Then he said, “Now you’ll go and spoil it all.” “Spoil what?” I asked him. “Go on, read it,” he said. “Sure I’ll read it,” I told him; “what’s all the excitement about?” “I hope you can keep your mouth shut,” he said. But, believe _me_, I didn’t read very much of it, because all I could see was the picture. I held the flashlight on it and just stared and stared and stared. Then I said, “Dorry!—You know—?” I was just flabbergasted and I could hardly speak. “Sure I know,” he said; “it’s Jib Jab. I’m going to get my motorcycle after all.” CHAPTER XXVI DORRY AND I AND THE CRICKET For a couple of minutes I could hardly speak, I was so surprised. The picture in that article was the picture of _Jib Jab, is he human?_ I knew by the wavy hair and the look he had, that made me not know whether he was jollying me or not. He had that very same look in the picture. I could almost hear him speak to me. And I just couldn’t take my eyes off it. Even that funny kind of twinkle in his eye was there, just the same as when he made Judge Dot mad. “You and I are the only ones that saw his real face; that’s one good thing,” Dorry said; “It’s Jib Jab all right, hey?”