“What’s the idea?” he asked. “I don’t exactly grasp it, Chip.”
“Why, I had thought that, if it could be arranged, a substitute——”
“Strike me lucky!” gasped Darrel. “That’s just the thing, by George! Say, Chip, that idea is a humdinger!”
“I don’t know about that. The success of it hangs on a good many contingencies. You’ll first have to win over Lenning to the scheme——”
“Leave that to me. He works nights, doesn’t he? I’ll go over to the mine and see him the moment I leave here.”
“Then, again,” said Merriwell gravely, “there’s a suggestion of trickery about the move that I don’t like.”
“Trickery nothing! It’s strategy, that’s all. Consider the motive, Chip. The play is being made for a good purpose—a purpose that could not be accomplished in any other way.”
“Well, it’s up to you, Curly. You belong with the other team, and if you’re willing to put the deal through I don’t see why I should object.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll have a good, long talk with my half brother, and I’ll bet I can make him see things as I do.”
Darrel was full of generous enthusiasm. With a final word for Merry, he darted down the veranda steps, unhitched his horse, mounted, and bore away in the direction of the Ophir Mine.