any reasonableness in you at all—what kind of a show would that give him to be a hero? Why, they might as well lend him the key, and done with it. Picks and shovels—why they wouldn't furnish 'em to a king."
"Well, then," I says, "if we don't want the picks and shovels, what do we want?"
"A couple of case-knives."
"To dig the foundations out from under that cabin, with?"
"Yes."
"Confound it, it's foolish, Tom."
"It don't make no difference how foolish it is, it's the right way—and it's the regular way. And there ain't no other way, that ever I heard of, and I've read all the books that gives any information about these things. They always dig out with a case-knife—and not through dirt, mind you; generly it's through solid rock. And it takes them weeks and weeks and weeks, and for ever and ever. Why, look at one of them prisoners in the bottom dungeon of the Castle Deef, in the harbour of Marseilles, that dug himself out that way; how long was he at it, you reckon?"
"I don't know."
"Well, guess."
"I don't know. A month and a half?"
"Thirty-seven year—and he come out in China. That's the kind. I wish the bottom of this fortress was solid rock."
"Jim don't know nobody in China."
"What's that got to do with it? Neither did that other fellow. But you're always a-wandering off on a side issue. Why can't you stick to the main point ?"
"All right—I don't care where he comes out, so he comes out; and Jim don't, either, I reckon. But there's one thing, anyway–Jim's too old to be dug out with a case-knife. He won't last."
