I yeared 'im gib de orders 'bout um, but I too fur off ter
year w'at he say."
"Can you think of any way, Chunk?"
"Ef de gyard ony all get ter sleep, I'd tek de risk ob tacklin'
Perkins, but dere's too many en I des stumped ter know w'at ter do."
"Hi! Miss Lou," whispered listening Zany, "I kin tell you w'at ter
do."
"Doan you pay no 'tention ter her foolishness," said Chunk coolly.
"Dis life-en-death business, en Zany outgrowed her sense."
"En you ain' growed into your'n," responded Zany. "Ef you has, why
doan you tell Miss Lou 'bout tings dat kin be done 'stead o tings
dat kyant be?"
"Well, Zany, what have you to say? Quick, and speak lower."
"Miss Lou, dar's Mad Whately's coat en pants hangin' out in de hall.
You put dem on, en tie yo' arm up in a sling. In de night who say
you ain Marse Whately?"
"Oh, Zany!" exclaimed the girl, appalled at first by the boldness of
the scheme.
"Well, dar now," whispered Chunk, "who'd tink dat ar gyurl got so
much gumption! See yere, Miss Lou, dat de way ef you got de spunk
ter do it.
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