“Let him g-go.”
“You don’t notice me stoppin’ him any, do you?”
“We could scare him out,” says he, “but it’s best to l-l-let him prowl. He won’t hurt anybody or anythin’, and he won’t find Motu. Maybe he’ll go away, thinkin’ Motu isn’t here at all.”
“I hate to let him get away without anythin’ happenin’ to him,” says I. “I don’t like to get as scared as I was and pay nobody back for it.”
Mark chuckled the faintest kind of a chuckle. “It might do him good if we f-f-f-fixed up somethin’ to amuse him,” says he. “Somethin’ he wouldn’t suspect us of. Lemme think.”
“Go ahead,” says I. “Thinkin’ can be done at all hours here.”
“Where’d Plunk and Binney leave their bait-cans?” says he.
“Just outside the door.”
“Sneak over and get ’em,” says he.
I wasn’t very anxious to, but I wasn’t anxious to let Mark see I wasn’t anxious, so I crawled over and reached through the door. The cans were there and I fetched them along. Mark dumped the worms and dirt out of them. They were big tomato-cans about five inches high and both of them had their tops bent back where they had been opened with a can-opener.