Ag was mixing paint in a pot.
"They used few colours in this edifice," says Ag, "otherwise I could
have produced something surprising. Blue for the hair," says he, "a
sign of purity." So he painted Troy's hair blue. And he painted a red
stripe down the nose and small queer rings all over his face, and with
a pair of lamp scissors he roached Troy's name like a mule--and, well,
he did make something uncommon out of Troy.
"Lovely _thing_!" says Ag, coquettish, and pokes him with his finger.
Troy, he didn't say nothing. In fact, when you come to think of it,
there wasn't many sparkling thoughts for him to put out.
"I got a few other traps we need," says Ag, pulling out a long coiled
wire spring (off a printing press, I reckon). "Come on," he says, "and
we'll fix something to entertain all the children." We put a belt on
Troy, run a line through it and hitched on the spring. The cow-punch,
he crawled up to the peak of the roof with a pulley, made it fast and
passed Mr. Troy's line through it. Then Ag took a brace and bit,
boring a one-inch hole in the floor, and give instructions to a pair of
Injuns in the cellar.
Then we yee-heed brother Troy to the top of the tree, running the
rope's end down the hole to the Injuns. Troy had a lighted candle tied
fast to each hand.
"Now, you Greek mythology," says Ag, "mind my words; you are to flap
your arms and squeak 'Mah-mah' as you merrily go up and down;
otherwise, my kyind assistants in the cellar are instructed to pull
down so hard that when they let go, you and that able-bodied spring
will fly right through the roof.
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