Chapter Twenty Two.
Tim’s Happy Idea.
“Come up here, Driscol,” said the doctor; and as Tim appeared Frank came to the inner doorway to creep into a corner, where he was in shadow, and could listen to what was said.
“Now, Braine,” said the doctor. “We are all waiting, what do you propose?”
“I have nothing to propose. We have a guard of sixteen outside. If we could get by them, we might reach the river in the darkness. Can you tell me how to proceed?” The doctor was silent. “Frank, can you suggest anything?”
“No, father; only to fight.”
“Madness, boy. Help would come directly.”
“I have an idea,” said the doctor, “if it would act. I should do it unwillingly, but it is our only hope that I see. Stop!—Driscol, can you help us?”
“Sure, I’ve been thinking hard, sor, and all I can get hold of is one idaya, and that’s as shlippery as an oysther out of its shell.”
“Speak, man, what is it?”