“Uh-huh—so you see how easily we might be trapped. But we’ll get around that, Tom—I always did like that name!—and I’ll tell you how:
“You’ll write a message to Mr. Winston, asking him to clear things up, and between the lines I’ll slip in a message to Rattle-pod in invisible ink.”
“Say, sweetheart!” he cried. “Has this experience gone to your head? Invisible ink! Why——”
“Oh, listen—listen, can’t you! If you knew how many times Mart and I have played outlaw and robber and sheriff’s posse and lost on a desert island and games like that, you’d know I mean what I say. But that was years and years ago,” she quickly added, glancing at him furtively.
“How many?” he asked for the second time, with an amused smile.
“None of your business, smarty! Anyway, it wasn’t so long ago that Mart will have forgotten. The minute he sees a message from me, with our secret emblem in one corner, he’ll know there’s a second message included in invisible ink. So we’ll have him on our side; and no matter how they try to fool us, we can get a true signal from the old kid.”
“Go on; go on! I give up. If you’re ready, I’ll throw things into the fire and say, ‘Double, double, toil and trouble! Fire, burn and, caldron, bubble!’ and brew the magic ink. I sincerely hope the doctors will pronounce your trouble of the harmless variety, at least.”
“We have about a pint of invisible ink,” she said primly.
“Certainly—certainly. Just keep quiet, now, and don’t think about your troubles!”
“You’d better kiss me for that,” she suggested, hiding her eyes with her long, chestnut lashes.