“We will,” says he, short-like.
“You don’t think we fooled The Man Who Will Come?”
“We f-fooled him about a quart, or maybe a pint, but it’ll wear off. He ain’t the kind to stay f-fooled.”
“No,” says Motu, from the door behind us, “he will not stay fooled, but he will fool others so they stay fooled.”
“I’ve got a lot of respect for him since I’ve seen him in action,” says I.
“If he discovers me I shall run,” says Motu. “It will be decided by legs. Who has the best legs wins.”
“The only way you could r-r-run and get away would be straight up,” says Mark, “and we’re just out of flyin’-machines. No, you won’t run, Motu. You’ll stay and we’ll s-s-stand a siege.”
“But, Mark Tidd, this large hotel cannot be defended by five. It would take fifty fighting-men.”
“It isn’t the hotel we’re goin’ to d-defend; it’s the citadel. We’re keepin’ it for a s-s’prise. Wait till these fellows discover you. They’ll think all they have to do is to come and get you out of here—but we won’t be here. Five of us can put up a pretty good fight in the citadel.”
“I’m goin’ for a walk,” says I. “I need exercise.”