Jiggins was a good cook. He and Mark ’tended to getting the meal, but this was one of the times Mark didn’t do much but look on. Jiggins showed him things. You could see, without half looking, that Mark thought a heap of the fat man. Mark right down admired him.
After dinner Mark and I sat down together and talked a spell.
“He’s a g-g-great man,” says Mark.
“Shucks!” says I.
“He’s beat us so f-far, hain’t he?”
“’Twasn’t nothin’ but luck. Are you ’fraid they’re goin’ to beat us all the way through?”
I knew Mark Tidd never would admit any such thing as that. Not him! “’Course n-not,” says he. “But it’s goin’ t-to be p-p-perty hard sleddin’ for us. If it was just Collins I wouldn’t worry a speck. But Jiggins! He’s g-g-got a head for thinkin’, he has.”
“Got any scheme for escapin’?” I asked him.
“Not yet. I’m p-p-plannin’, though. It’s got to be at night. If I’ve f-f-figgered right we got to-night and to-morrow night. ’Tain’t l-likely we’ll come up with your uncle till day after to-morrow, g-g-goin’ at the rate we are.”
“Never put off till to-morrer night what you kin do to-night,” I says.