The Devil chuckled. “Janet's so bonny. Fancy her on the pillow beside, ye—scraggy—bones—freckles. Hoots, man! a nightmare!”
Shuddering, Saunders reconsidered proceedings of ejectment. “But the thing is no posseeble?”
“You know your men,” the Devil answered. “Close in the mouth as they are in the fist. McCakeron will never get wind o' the business till they spring it on him in meeting.”
“That is so,” Saunders acknowledged. “'Tis surely so-a.”
“Then why,” the Devil urged,—“then why not rig the same game on him?”
“Bosh! He wouldna think o't.”
“Loving Dunlop as himself?” The Devil was apt at paraphrasing Scripture. “Imph!”
“It would let me out?” Saunders mused.
“Ye can but fail,” argued the Devil. “Try it.”
“I wull.”