“This means that the hijackers didn’t let it roll off the cliff and land here,” said Nancy. “Those men must have brought it down the hillside. If they did,” she added, smiling broadly at the two policemen, “the five of us should be able to drag it back up.”
The two officers looked at her dubiously but finally consented to try. Bess and George stood on one side of the pole, Nancy on the other. As they grabbed hold, Bess giggled. “This isn’t a one-horse shay. It’s a three-horse stagecoach!”
Starr and Gavin grinned, then got behind the vehicle and started to shove it. The trip up the slope was an arduous one, but finally the group reached the top. From there out to the main road the task of moving the stagecoach was not difficult.
“I’ll be happy to deliver the stagecoach to Mrs. Pauling,” Nancy offered.
“All right,” said Officer Starr. “Gavin and I will report to headquarters about those hijackers and do more searching for them.”
While he radioed to headquarters, Officer Gavin got some heavy rope from his car. The pole of the old stagecoach was firmly tied to the rear bumper of Nancy’s convertible.
“If it weren’t against the law to ride in a trailer,” said Bess, “I’d certainly climb into the old stagecoach.”
The three girls finally set off, with Nancy driving very slowly. Motorists along the road stared in amazement and amusement at the sight. Finally Nancy pulled into the Pauling driveway and parked in front of the house.
Mrs. Pauling, who was just coming out of the front door, stared in utter astonishment. Then she cried out, “You found it! Do come inside the house and tell me all about it!”
At that moment George looked at her wrist watch and exclaimed, “Bess, our tennis match is at three o’clock. We’d better dash right off!”
Since it was only twelve thirty, Mrs. Pauling insisted that the girls stay long enough to have lunch. Then she asked whether Nancy would have to go too.
“Not yet,” the young sleuth confessed. “As a matter of fact, I’d like to stay and examine the old stagecoach.”
“Fine. I’ll drive you back to Merriweather later.”
While lunch was being prepared, Nancy gave Mrs. Pauling a full report on the recovery of the stagecoach and said she thought they should notify John O’Brien at once. Mrs. Pauling agreed and Nancy put in the call to Bridgeford. The trucker was delighted to learn the good news.
When Nancy returned to the group, Mrs. Pauling said, “The carpenter was here but he left. I’m sure he’ll come back if I ask him to.” She phoned Mr. Jennings who promised to return at two o’clock and carefully take apart the stagecoach piece by piece.
A delicious luncheon of chicken sandwiches, molded vegetable salad, and tall glasses of lemonade was served in a shaded portion of the patio garden. As Mrs. Pauling and her guests were eating, the woman asked if the girls were familiar with the history of stagecoaches. None of them were.
“It’s really very interesting,” she said. “The first stagecoaches used in this country were imported from England, and were called stage waggons. But during the War of 1812 the Concord coach was built in Massachusetts and became very popular. It was used out West as late as the 1870’s.”
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Bess asked, “Is the stagecoach you bought a Concord coach?”
“Yes, it is,” Mrs. Pauling replied. She chuckled. “Some record runs were made in those Concord coaches—twenty miles in forty-five minutes! Considering the roads in those days, that was marvelous time.
“And speaking of the roads, carriages sank so deeply in the mud sometimes that the horses could not pull them out. Getting across creeks, or bridges that were made of only a few loose boards, was a real accomplishment.”
Bess hunched her shoulders. “I don’t think I’d like to have been on one of those rides,” she remarked. “The old stagecoaches must have swayed around like crazy.”
Mrs. Pauling nodded. “Despite that, the stagecoach lines could not carry all the passengers who wanted to travel. But whenever a railroad came into a community there were loud complaints from the stage drivers.
“They were not the only ones who complained, either. You know the turnpikes and bridges in those days collected tolls and the owners could see their profits melting away.”
“And I suppose the farmers complained too,” George spoke up. “Railroads wouldn’t buy hay and grain for their iron horses.”
“That’s true,” Mrs. Pauling agreed. “But as a matter of fact, the first railroads in this country used horses. They were the original locomotives and pulled one or two railway coaches.”
By this time Mrs. Pauling and her guests had finished eating. Bess and George said they really must leave in order to get back to the lodge in time to change their clothes and get to the tennis courts. After thanking their hostess, the girls hurried off.
At two o’clock Mr. Jennings rang the bell and said he was ready to begin work. The old stagecoach was dragged to a vacant barn at the rear of the property and the job started.
Mr. Jennings proved to be a talkative individual. “This is one of the best Concord coaches ever built,” he remarked. “See how gracefully the carriage body was slung on these leather straps. They served as springs, you know.”
Nancy wished he would hurry taking the stagecoach apart, but he slowly laid out all his tools from a large box and a cloth-wrapped kit which he removed from his car.
“Many laws were passed in connection with the operation of stagecoaches,” he went on. “One act of the legislature required lamps to be used on all coaches running at night. Drivers were fined for not doing this. Another regulation was against leaving the horses unfastened while they were hitched to a coach standing still without a driver.”
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Finally the carpenter settled down to work. First he removed the upholstery from the doors and let Nancy thoroughly examine the padding for any clue which might have been secreted there. She found nothing.
Next he removed the leather backing of the seats, but again the young sleuth had no luck. Then the leather lining of the box under the driver’s seat was taken out. There was no clue behind it.
“I guess we’ll have to start taking the sections apart,” Mr. Jennings said.
Doors came off, the roof was removed, all the seats were taken out, and finally the body was separated from the framework. Wheels and pole were taken off. Still no clue came to light.
“I’m terribly sorry, Miss Drew,” Mr. Jennings said. “I know how disappointed you are.”
All this time Mrs. Pauling had sat nearby, watching curiously and hopefully. When it became evident that nothing was secreted in the ancient vehicle, Nancy apologized profusely for all the trouble she had caused.
“Please don’t worry,” Mrs. Pauling said kindly. “I’m only sorry that the little dream which all of us had did not become a reality.”
“I admit I’m terribly disappointed,” said Nancy. “But I’m not giving up. I’ve come to this conclusion: We’ve been investigating the wrong stagecoach. This means I’ll have to start all over again and find the right one.”
Mrs. Pauling stared at the girl detective. “I certainly admire your perseverance,” she said. “But how in the world are you going to find the right stagecoach?”
CHAPTER VII
An Attic Clue
WHEN Nancy returned to her room at the camp, she found Bess and George already in theirs. Quickly stories were exchanged with both sides disappointed in the outcome. Bess and George had lost their tennis match that day.
Nancy smiled. “Too bad. But that will give you all the more time to help me solve my mystery.”
“I can see that you already have something in mind,” Bess remarked. “Out with it!”
Nancy said she was going to call on Mrs. Strook the following morning. “Now that the mystery has to be tackled from a new angle, I’m hoping she can give me some helpful information.”
“Good idea,” said George. “Well, let’s go and eat. I’m simply starved. That tennis match sure was strenuous.”
Directly after dinner a group of young people, including Nancy and her friends, gathered in one corner of the lobby. Conversation was light, as they waited to attend an outdoor movie, to be shown as soon as it was dark.
Nancy was talking with Rick Larrabee when she was rudely interrupted by a woman’s voice behind her. “And how did the young sleuth make out today?”
Turning, Nancy looked straight into the eyes of Audrey Monteith. “Oh, very well, thank you,” Nancy replied and turned back to talk to Rick.
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Audrey, however, was not to be brushed aside easily. “Nancy, don’t be so secretive,” she scolded. “We’d love to hear about what you’ve been doing.”
Nancy heaved a great sigh, then said as pleasantly as possible, “I really have nothing to tell. I admit I’m trying to solve a mystery, but as yet I haven’t done so.”
Rick took hold of her arm and led Nancy toward the outdoor movie amphitheater. Taking his cue, the other young people followed close behind and took seats all around Nancy, so that the inquisitive Monteiths could not talk to her.
“You’re all dears,” Nancy said, chuckling. “Thanks a million.”
Early the next morning the young sleuth awakened Bess and George. Nancy said she would like to start off for Mrs. Strook’s home before the Monteiths had a chance to follow. Her friends grinned and hurried into their sports clothes. The three girls had breakfast and set off.
They found Mrs. Strook in the front yard, cutting flowers. She greeted her callers with a pleasant good morning, then said, “You must have important news to bring you out so early.”
“We plan a full day of sleuthing,” Nancy replied, smiling. Then she told Mrs. Strook of her failure regarding the old stagecoach. “I feel sure now that this was not the one your great-uncle owned. What I must do is find the right one.”
Mrs. Strook was disappointed, but said she was delighted to know that Nancy would go on with the case. “Have you any idea where to start?” she asked.
“Yes,” Nancy answered. “I’d like to know if you have any possessions of Mr. Langstreet—letters, diaries, books, anything to give us a clue.”
The elderly woman stood lost in thought for several moments, then said, “I can’t think of a single thing that would help, except possibly a diary of my grandfather’s. Come into the house and I’ll try to find it.”
At once the three girls offered to help her search for it. She readily agreed and suggested that Nancy and her friends check the living-room bookcase while she looked in desk drawers. There was silence as the search went on. Ten minutes later all admitted defeat.
“Then my grandfather’s old diary must be in the attic,” Mrs. Strook concluded. “Let’s rest a bit before we go up. In the meantime, I’ll show you something I’m rather proud of.”
From the desk she pulled out a small book filled with stamps. “Collecting stamps, old and new, from all over the world is a hobby of mine,” she said. “A few are rather valuable but they would be more so if they had not been canceled.”
The girls looked at page after page, with Mrs. Strook pointing out the fact that blocks of uncanceled stamps were the rarest and most expensive of all.
She smiled. “Of course I haven’t any of the old ones in blocks or uncanceled.”
“Which is your most valuable?” Bess asked.
“This George Washington one of 1847. It’s not in very good condition but it’s genuine. You know, there are counterfeit stamps on the market.”
“How much would a block of four of these genuine George Washingtons be worth if they were uncanceled?” Nancy queried.
“About ten thousand dollars,” Mrs. Strook replied.
“Hypers!” George exclaimed.
The elderly woman smiled, closed the book, and put it away. She stood up, saying, “I’m ready to continue our search for the diary now. Suppose you girls follow me upstairs and we’ll take a look.”
The second floor of the house was as charming as the first, with its quaint décor and white woodwork. The elderly woman opened a door at the foot of a stairway to the attic and led the way to the very orderly room above.
Trunks and boxes stood in neat rows on one side, while discarded pieces of furniture, including an old spinning wheel, had been pushed under the eaves along the other three sides. There was no ceiling; just rafters and crossbeams. A few boxes stood on the crossbeams.
Mrs. Strook assigned the girls to various trunks and boxes, while she took others. Bess, who had been given a trunk full of costumes, was intrigued. She wanted to take each one out and hold it up, but knew this would take a lot of time.
Carefully she felt down around the clothing and all over the bottom of the trunk, hoping the old diary might be lying there. But she did not find it. Finally she straightened up and closed the lid of the trunk.
Meanwhile, the other searchers were going through boxes and trunks holding old newspapers, letters, and books. Each was carefully examined, not only for the diary, but for some advertisement, a letter slipped between the pages, or a marked passage in some volume that would give a hint about Great-uncle Abner Langstreet’s intentions. Nothing was found.
Finally Mrs. Strook suggested a rest period and sat down on an old-fashioned chair. Bess offered to go downstairs and bring up glasses of water for Mrs. Strook and the others. She could see that the woman was becoming very weary and suggested that she lie down on an antique sofa.
“All right,” she said. “But you strong young people go on with the search. I’ve forgotten what is in those boxes up on the crossbeams.”
After Bess had brought the water and the searchers had drained their glasses, the girls began work again. Each took one of the boxes on the crossbeams and started to pull it toward her. Nancy’s was very heavy and difficult to move. She stood on tiptoe and tugged at it. Little by little the box inched along toward the edge.
Suddenly, as she gave it an extra tug, the box turned upside down and fell directly on her head! Stunned, she let go of it and slumped to the floor.
“Oh, Nancy!” Bess cried out fearfully. She dashed to her friend’s side.
George, too, was there in a jiffy. Mrs. Strook had arisen from the sofa and hurried forward. “Oh dear! Oh dear!” she wailed. “I hope it’s nothing serious!”
“I’m sure it’s not,” George tried to reassure the elderly woman, who had become ghostly pale.
Nancy was murmuring. She opened her eyes and reached one hand to the top of her head. Already a bump was starting to form.
“That was a nasty crack you got,” said George. “I’ll go down and get some ice to put on it.” She hurried down the stairs to the kitchen and returned in less than a minute with ice cubes wrapped in a towel.
By this time Nancy was seated on the sofa, and declared that she would be all right in a few moments. She was relieved, however, to have the ice pack to reduce the swelling on her head. But soon her good humor returned and she remarked facetiously:
“I’ll have to change my hair-do for a couple of days to hide this bump!”
The others laughed and Mrs. Strook in particular felt relieved to know that Nancy was all right. Nevertheless, she shook her head, saying, “It’s wonderful the way you young people can make such quick comebacks.”
The contents of the box Nancy had pulled down were strewn on the floor. Suddenly Mrs. Strook saw her grandfather’s diary. Picking it up, she began thumbing through the old book.
“Here are some items that may help you,” she said excitedly. “It tells about my grandfather’s endeavor to trace his brother-in-law. He contacted every stagecoach line in the country and he had also written to every driver of a private stagecoach whose name he could learn. But no one could tell him anything about Great-uncle Abner’s stagecoach.”
Mrs. Strook continued to read to herself from the diary. The girls did not interrupt. In a few moments she said, “Here’s another item. My grandfather also contacted all the old inns and taverns located along the stagecoach routes. Abner Langstreet never registered at any of them.”
“Well, that eliminates the idea that Mr. Langstreet sold the stagecoach out West,” George remarked. “It looks as if he must have hidden it somewhere around here.”
“Yes, it does,” Mrs. Strook agreed. She sighed. “But maybe by this time the coach has rotted away and we’ll never find it.”
Nancy, determined not to lose hope, said, “It’s my hunch that if Mr. Abner Langstreet loved his stagecoach as much as I’ve been led to believe, he would do everything he could to preserve it. I’m sure that it’s hidden away safely somewhere. He intended to tell in the letter he wrote to your grandmother, Mrs. Strook, where he had put it, but I believe he died without having a chance to do so.”
Mrs. Strook smiled fondly at Nancy. “You’re such a wonderful girl,” she said.
“If you’re right, Nancy,” said Bess, “where do we go from here?”
Nancy had a quick answer. “To the place where Mr. Abner Langstreet spent his last days.”
CHAPTER VIII
A Whistler’s Confession
“PERHAPS you’ll go with us, Mrs. Strook,” Nancy invited. But the elderly woman said she did not feel physically able to make the trip to her great-uncle’s last home.
“Can you show me on a map exactly where it is?” the young sleuth went on.
When Mrs. Strook nodded, Nancy offered to bring a road map from her car. The whole group returned to the living room. As Nancy hurried outdoors, she noticed a truck parked just back of her automobile. Drawing closer, she recognized the driver as Judd Hillary!
As soon as he saw Nancy, the unpleasant man alighted. Facing her, he said angrily, “I’ve been waitin’ for you.”
“Yes?” Nancy asked in surprise.
“I gave you a warnin’, young lady, but you’re not payin’ any attention to it,” Judd Hillary said harshly. “Can’t you keep that nose o’ yours out o’ other people’s business? You don’t live around here. You don’t pay taxes. You just come up here to have a good time. Well, why don’t you stick to that? You don’t have to go runnin’ around messin’ in the affairs o’ our place!”
“I wasn’t aware that I was doing such a thing,” said Nancy coolly.
She planned to ignore the man, but he followed her to the convertible. It suddenly occurred to Nancy that he probably had posted himself there to see what she was doing and where she was going. It might be best not to pull out the map at this time.
Suddenly Judd Hillary burst out, “What did you do with the old stagecoach?”
Nancy was so amazed at the question that she stared dumfounded. But she was instantly on her guard. In reply she said, “Mr. Hillary, why are you so interested in the old stagecoach?”
The man had a ready answer. “Because you are,” he said. “You can’t hide anything from me. You’re workin’ for the opposition. They’re an underhanded bunch. They got somethin’ up their sleeves. If they set you onto examinin’ the old stagecoach, it means somethin’. I want to know what it is!”
Nancy wondered how she was going to get rid of the man. She was a bit puzzled by his attitude. On the one hand he seemed genuinely interested in keeping the local taxes and those of surrounding communities from being raised. On the other hand, the very fact that he had learned she was interested in examining the old stagecoach could even mean he knew the hijackers!
“I wonder how I can find out,” she asked herself. Then an idea came to her and she decided on a bold move. Looking directly at him, she said, “Mr. Hillary, you whistle very well.”
The tall, muscular man fell back. “How do you know that I can—?” Then he interrupted himself abruptly and the momentary look of fright which had come over his face vanished. Setting his jaw, he said, “You never heard me whistle, so what are you talking about?”
Nancy did not answer. She felt positive that Judd Hillary had given himself away: He had some connection with the hijackers!
Having proved that fact to herself, she decided on a new tack to disarm him. “Yes, I felt that there was something very valuable hidden in that old stagecoach. But I was wrong. It has all been taken apart and thoroughly searched. Not a thing was found.” She smiled at Judd Hillary. “So you won’t have to worry about it any longer.”
The man gave Nancy a searching look as if he could not make up his mind whether or not to believe her. Finally he mumbled something to himself she could not hear.
In a louder voice he said, “I’m warnin’ you again. Don’t be pokin’ into the business o’ other people!”
He got into his truck, started the motor, and jerkily drove up the street.
Nancy gazed after him wonderingly. “So he was the whistler!” she told herself. “That is a clue I’m certainly going to pursue.”
Nancy opened the car door and found the road map. Returning to the house, she spread it out on Mrs. Strook’s dining-room table. She pointed to Francisville and then asked the elderly woman if she could locate the spot where Abner Langstreet had spent his last days.
It took Mrs. Strook some time to figure this out. At last she put her finger on an area about half a mile in from a side road marked 123A. “I think this is the place.”
“There’s a private road leading to the farm?” George asked.
“I believe so,” Mrs. Strook said. “I have never been on it myself, but I’m told it’s only a dirt road.”
She warned the girls that this was a desolate area.
“Does anyone live on the farm now?” Nancy asked.
“Oh, yes. In fact, people have lived on the place ever since Great-uncle Abner passed away. But no one has improved the farm much. I understand that right now a young couple are living on it. They’re having a struggle financially.”
“That’s a shame,” said Bess sympathetically.
Mrs. Strook nodded. “Their name is Zucker. I believe the husband was advised by a doctor to live on a farm for health reasons. Mr. Zucker is feeling better but knows little about farming, so it’s difficult to make ends meet.”
The elderly woman wished the girls luck as Nancy folded up the map and said they must go. At that moment all of them heard thunder. Flashes of lightning streaked across the sky.
“Oh, you must stay until the storm is over,” Mrs. Strook insisted.
“I guess we’d better,” said Nancy. “I’ll run out and put up the top of my car.”
Rain came down in torrents for about twenty minutes, then slackened off slightly. The thunder and lightning ceased, but the rain continued.
“I’m afraid,” said Mrs. Strook, “that it will rain all the rest of the day. I’d advise you girls not to try going out to the Zucker place. You’d certainly get stuck on those bad roads.”
Nancy realized the wisdom of this. “I’ll take your advice, Mrs. Strook,” she said, “and make the trip tomorrow.”
The girls said good-by and dashed through the rain to the convertible. As Nancy turned it left upon reaching Main Street, and Bess realized that they were headed for the business section of Francisville rather than Camp Merriweather, she inquired the reason. Nancy told of her recent clash with Judd Hillary outside Mrs. Strook’s house.
“Oh, how dreadful!” Bess exclaimed. “You really think Judd Hillary is mixed up with those hijackers?”
As Nancy nodded, George remarked, “Since Judd Hillary knows you’re an amateur detective, he has no doubt told that to those crooks.”
Bess agreed, and added worriedly, “We’ve never even heard their names. When you know who your enemies are it’s bad enough, but when you don’t—well, it gives me the shivers to think about it.”
Nancy remarked, “Since I told Judd Hillary no clue had been found in the old stagecoach, I believe they’ll leave me alone.”
“I certainly hope so,” said Bess. “And what are we going to do in Francisville?”
“First, quiz the druggist, Mr. Benfield, then other shopkeepers to learn if any of them ever saw Judd Hillary with two tall men, one a blond and the other dark with a scar across his left wrist.”
Bess and George offered to help. By the time they were ready to start their inquiry, the rain had let up enough for them to dodge from place to place without getting too wet. They agreed to meet at the Willow Tearoom for a late lunch.
When the three girls gathered together again, each reported failure. “I suppose that proves,” said George, “that Judd Hillary meets these friends of his out in the country where nobody will see them.” Nancy nodded.
After the girls had eaten, they found that the rain was still coming down fitfully so Nancy, Bess, and George decided to return to the lodge. Here they found that the management had arranged an eight-o’clock dinner dance. Tables had been taken from the center of the dining-room floor and only a ring of them left around the edges.
Nancy, Bess, and George also learned that the special group whom they dated, Rick, Jack Smith, and Hobe White, had engaged a long table with places for the three girls. Dressed in pretty frocks, Nancy in blue, George in deep yellow, and Bess in pale green, the girls arrived in the lobby just before eight.
Rick and the other two boys immediately came up to them and together they walked into the dining room. The rest of their group was already there. They also found Ross and Audrey Monteith dragging chairs from another table with the thought of joining them.
Rick scowled. Going up to the couple, he told them that there were no places left at the table. “Oh, two more won’t hurt,” Audrey argued, trying to smile bewitchingly but failing completely.
“It is already crowded,” said Rick, his eyes flashing.
“Now you know,” Ross spoke up, “that there’s always room for two more.”
“In this case there’s not,” Rick said with such finality that the Monteiths pulled their chairs back to the other table.
“Good for you,” Nancy whispered to her partner. Soon the first course was served and the music started. She forgot all about the unpleasant couple.
The rain had stopped several hours before and about ten o’clock the moon came up. Nancy and Rick, after a dance, strolled outside into the lovely garden. Deep in conversation, they walked to the very end of it.
“One more year of college, then I’ll be a full-fledged engineer,” Rick remarked. “I can hardly wait to get out and start work.”
Before Nancy had a chance to comment, she and Rick became aware of someone walking in the woods beyond the end of the garden. They stopped to listen. The other person had paused also, but now they could hear a faint clicking noise.
“What is that?” Nancy whispered.
Rick listened a few seconds, then he said in surprise, “It sounds like a Geiger counter. But who in the world would be hunting uranium ore or other metals around here?”
CHAPTER IX
Trouble on the Road
NANCY started toward the woods to investigate the strange clicking sound.
Rick followed. “You’d better stay here,” he cautioned her. “I’ll go.”
Just then the clicking ceased and Ross Monteith emerged from among the trees! He was carrying a cane!
“Oh!” Ross cried out as he almost ran into the couple. “I didn’t see you!”
“Have you taken to walking alone in the woods after dark?” Rick asked him.
Ross Monteith laughed lightly. “I had a good old flashlight to help me.” He tapped his jacket pocket. “Audrey thought she’d lost one of her favorite earrings in the woods this morning and I offered to try to find it for her. No luck, though.”
As Ross started to move off, Nancy asked him, “Did you hear a peculiar clicking noise while you were in the woods?”
“Clicking noise?” he repeated. “No, I didn’t. Why?”
“Oh, we thought we did and wondered what it was.”
“Sorry I can’t help you,” Ross said, and hurried off.
Nancy and Rick discussed the whole episode. It was evident from their frowns that neither of them quite believed what Monteith had said. Why had he been in the woods? And was he telling the truth about not hearing the clicking noise?
Rick suddenly chuckled. “Nancy,” he said, “how about this deduction from a novice at sleuthing? I think Ross Monteith’s cane contains a Geiger counter. After dark he goes around prospecting for valuable minerals.”
Nancy laughed. “Well,” she said, “your theory is more comforting than having the cane turn out to be a deadly weapon!”
Long after Nancy had gone to bed that evening, she continued to think about the various angles of the mystery which she was trying to solve. Two questions concerning the Monteiths kept recurring to her mind. Were the couple just being nuisances? Or was there more to their always trying to be wherever Nancy was?
As the young sleuth was finally falling asleep, she decided to stay out of the couple’s way as much as possible. “And I’ll warn Bess and George not to say anything in front of them which would give away any of our plans.”
Nancy awoke early the next day and decided at once on one way to start her campaign of secrecy. She would move her car from the parking lot to a little-used side road a short distance from the lodge. “Then Ross and Audrey can’t spy on me so easily.”