"Can you think of any way, Chunk?"
"Ef de gyard ony all get ter sleep, I'd tek de risk ob tacklin'
Perkins, but dere's too many en I des stumped ter know w'at ter do."
"Hi! Miss Lou," whispered listening Zany, "I kin tell you w'at ter do."
"Doan you pay no 'tention ter her foolishness," said Chunk coolly. "Dis life-en-death business, en Zany outgrowed her sense."
"En you ain' growed into your'n," responded Zany. "Ef you has, why doan you tell Miss Lou 'bout tings dat kin be done 'stead o tings dat kyant be?"
"Well, Zany, what have you to say? Quick, and speak lower."
"Miss Lou, dar's Mad Whately's coat en pants hangin' out in de hall. You put dem on, en tie yo' arm up in a sling. In de night who say you ain Marse Whately?"
"Oh, Zany!" exclaimed the girl, appalled at first by the boldness of the scheme.
"Well, dar now," whispered Chunk, "who'd tink dat ar gyurl got so much gumption! See yere, Miss Lou, dat de way ef you got de spunk ter do it. Ole Perkins tink you Mad Whately comin' ter play de debil trick en let you tek Marse Scoville way quietly, en de gyard won' 'fere wid you nudder, kase dey un'er yo' cousin. You kin go en lead Marse Scoville right off, en if Perkins follow I settle 'im."
"Do you think there's no other way?" Miss Lou asked, with 'quick, agitated breathing.