“Like the works of a clock,” suggested Steve, never at a loss for a simile, however inapt it might be.
“Well,” Charles observed, “let us make a being of straw, or old clothes, to look like a discomfited tramp in effigy, and then hang him out of a window up-stairs. Marmaduke will take it for the persecuting captor, of course. And besides, we shall want something to do while Henry and Marmaduke are rescuing each other. This is your idea, Steve,” he added, “and I give you all the credit for it.”
All the plotters were in favor of doing this, and so that question was settled.
Jim—who bore the plotters a grudge for not having acquainted him with their designs till forced to do so—was suddenly struck with a peculiarly “bright” idea. He said nothing to them, but chuckling grimly to himself, he muttered fiendishly: “It would serve ’em right, I guess, anyway!”
Stephen was suddenly struck with a horrible fear; he gasped faintly: “Boys!—say, boys! Oh, dear! Boys, won’t the French young lady be supposed to speak in her own language? And how could Marmaduke understand that?—that is, if Henry could speak it right along?”
The plotters were appalled. With consternation in every face, they stared at each other in utter hopelessness, whilst their beloved plot tottered on its foundations.
But presently the Sage, with his customary philosophy, came to the rescue. Said he: “Look here, boys, all that is necessary is to have the captor and the wicked jailers teach the beautiful captive to speak English, broken English, a little. Alas, it seems to me that this captive will be an endless trouble to us, and I think Henry will wish himself himself again. Yes, I shall be glad when its all over.”
“Never mind;” said Stephen. “Now, this broken English will settle that question; but, Will, can Henry speak broken—I mean cracked—English?”
“Of course he can,” said Will confidently; “he can do anything.”