Bully grinned to himself. He could read his cousin like a book, and was playing on the other with beautiful precision.
“Well, Bob, pop and I figgered up a plan. It ain’t a nice plan, but this is our last chance to slip one over on Merriwell. He ain’t played the gentleman in his dealings with you, and we don’t mind fightin’ fire with fire for once.”
This amazing display of innocence did not astonish Randall. He knew little of his precious relatives, and Bully’s assumed hesitation seemed quite natural to him.
“Neither do I!” he growled, in return. “Where he is concerned, Carson, I’d feel justified in doing anything!”
“Then do this, Cousin Bob.”
While he spoke, Bully took from his pocket the carefully folded paper that had been given him by his father. Randall looked at it.
“Here’s the plan we figgered out, Bob: To get Merriwell out o’ this here game, we got to keep him out by force. It ain’t no use appealing to his fairness. He ain’t got any such thing!”
“Force won’t work, here at Fardale,” muttered Bob.
“But this powder will,” said Bully, leaning forward and dropping his voice. “Hold on!” he cried, as Randall gave a quick start. “It ain’t only a sleepin’ potion, Bob. If you could get Merriwell to drink it any time Saturday mornin’, which is to-morrow, he’d sleep clear through till supper time. They couldn’t wake him up, and if they did he wouldn’t be no good.”
Randall flushed, drawing back.