All the Blueskins except a few soldiers had gone to
bed and were sound asleep. A blue gloom hung
over the city, which was scarcely relieved by a few
bluish, wavering lights here and there, but Trot knew
the general direction in which the palace lay, and
she decided to go there first. She believed the
Boolooroo would surely keep so important a prisoner
as Cap’n Bill locked up in his own palace.
Once or twice the little girl lost her way, for the
streets were very puzzling to one not accustomed to
them, but finally she sighted the great palace and
went up to the entrance. There she found a double
guard posted. They were sitting on a bench outside
the doorway, and both stood up as she approached.
“We thought we heard footsteps,” said
one.
“So did we,” replied the other, “yet
there is no one in sight.”
Trot then saw that the guards were the two patched
men, Jimfred Jonesjinks and Fredjim Jinksjones, who
had been talking together quite cheerfully. It
was the first time the girl had seen them together,
and she marveled at the queer patching that had been
so strongly united here, yet so thoroughly separated
them.
“You see,” remarked Jimfred as they seated
themselves again upon the bench, “The Boolooroo
has ordered the patching to take place tomorrow morning
after breakfast. The old Earth man is to be patched
to poor Tiggle instead of Ghip-Ghisizzle, who has in
some way managed to escape from the Room of the Great
Knife—no one knows how but Tiggle, and
Tiggle won’t tell.”
“We’re sorry for anyone who has to be
patched,” replied Fredjim in a reflective tone,
“for although it didn’t hurt us as much
as we expected, it’s a terrible mix-up to be
in until we become used to our strange combination.
You and we are about alike, now, Jimfred, although
we were so different before.”
“Not so,” said Jimfred. “We
are really more intelligent than you are, for the
left side of our brain was always the keenest before
we were patched.”
“That may be,” admitted Fredjim, “but
we are much the strongest, because our right arm was
by far the best before we were patched.”
“We are not sure of that,” responded Jimfred,
“for we have a right arm, too, and it is pretty
strong.”
“We will test it,” suggested the other,
“by all pulling upon one end of this bench with
our right arms. Whichever can pull the bench from
the others must be the strongest.”
While they were tussling at the bench, dragging it
first here and then there in the trial of strength,
Trot opened the door of the palace and walked in.
It was pretty dark in the hall, and only a few dim
blue lights showed at intervals down the long corridors.
As the girl walked through these passages, she could
hear snores of various degrees coming from behind
some of the closed doors and knew that all the regular
inmates of the place were sound asleep. So she
mounted to the upper floor, and thinking she would
be likely to find Cap’n Bill in the Room of
the Great Knife, she went there and tried the door.
It was locked, but the key had been left on the outside.
She waited until the sentry who was pacing the corridor
had his back toward her, and then she turned the key
and slipped within, softly closing the door behind
her.
