While they were crossing a depression, or rather a long hollow formation in the contour of the grassy slope, and close to some locust trees, the thick foliage of which threw a deep shadow on the spot, Jack thrust his free hand into his pocket and removed the stopper from a bottle of chloroform which he had provided for this occasion, and saturated a colored handkerchief with it. Some of it passed through the lining of his pocket and immediately impregnated the air with its odor.
Dorothy got a whiff of it and drew away with the remark, “Dear me, what a funny smell!”
“Naw, eesa—nicey da smell, jes like-a da poppy, so beautiful-a da flower,” replied Jack, reassuringly.
“Well, I don’t like it, anyway,” she said.
At that moment she was standing a couple of yards from him, they had come to a halt, and it was necessary for him to act adroitly and with promptness, to reassure her and avoid arousing her suspicion, so he pretended to stumble and then fell to the ground.
Arising to his knees, he groaned as though in seeming pain, and gripped his right wrist with his left hand.
“Oh, oh! Eesa da hurt-a bad. Break-a da arm; oh, oh!” And in order to get her close to him, he said, “Get-a da bot’ in-a da pock’.”
The cunning fellow knew well how to touch the chord of sympathy that is ever present in the guileless heart of innocent childhood.
The response came in a wondering look of infinite tenderness and compassion, for the child did not clearly comprehend Jack’s request and she asked:
“Did you break your arm?”