“Shut up, this isn’t funny,” growled Osceola. “Do you want that guy in there to hear and spoil everything?” He leaned close to Sanborn. “It’s hardly ever necessary to let a low-class white feel the flame. This fellow screamed when I lit the match, and again when I put the unlighted end between his toes. You see? You just make a lengthy explanation of what is going to happen to him before you start. His imagination does the rest.”
“But Osceola—there is a possibility of burning—and I don’t like it.”
“All right, sir. I’ll light one match and stick another, an unlighted one, between his tootsies! He’ll bleat just the same. You see, when I was tied up I heard this man and his wife talking about a laboratory or factory that the Professor runs up at a place called Mizzentop. And I heard just enough to make me curious—I—”
“Go ahead, then. Find out what goes on in that laboratory, and we’ll know the answer to the winged cartwheels. But don’t you think you’re taking chances in a lighted room with nothing between you and the night but a screen door?”
“Huh—” grunted Osceola, “that fellow hasn’t had a bath in months—it’s a warm night, Mr. Sanborn. I prefer taking chances with bullets to being asphyxiated!”
Sanborn chuckled. “Go to it, Chief—but no rough stuff, remember. Turn on the light again if you wish. Bill and I will keep watch outside. The people up at the big house have gone to bed, but it’s just as well to take precautions. And we can hear anything your friend may have to say from the shadow of the porch.”
They walked up to the porch and Osceola went inside the house. Then the light went on in the kitchen and the young Seminole started speaking.
“Well, Mr. Skunk! Some friends of mine are out back. They are also interested in hearing about Mizzentop. So, that being that, I’m going to light another match—”
“No, no! I’ll tell—I’ll tell!”
“Good enough. But calm yourself, bozo—there’s no need to shout the glad tidings all over Connecticut!”