“Don’t do to h-hurry too much,” says he. “Slow and careful. Take no chances.”
By this time his rope was all coiled, and he began making a little loop in one end—a little loop about two inches long.
“What’s that?” I asked, too anxious to keep still. It made me almost crazy to see him so deliberate.
He didn’t answer, but just doubled the rope a ways from the noose and shoved it through the little loop. Then I saw. He was making a lasso.
It sort of disgusted me, for I couldn’t see what good in the world a lasso could do, but he seemed satisfied. He made his noose just the right size to suit him and stretched it and put his foot in it to pull out all the crinkles.
“There,” says he, just like he’d been trying to invent an airship and it had turned out to suit him. “Now,” says he to me, “listen c-careful and don’t make any mistakes.”
“Go ahead,” says I.
“We’re going to the st-st-stairs where Collins is,” says he. “When we g-get there you start to go up. Stamp with your feet and m-make a lot of noise. As soon as Collins sees you, begin to m-make fun of him. Get him mad! Get him awful mad!”
“Fine!” says I. “And let him catch me and give me a wallopin’, too, I expect.”
“No,” says Mark. “Make him ch-ch-chase you.”