two o'clock I'll squeeze through."

"I'll have it worked up good and proper," I said, eagerly. "I'll
throw out dark hints all the evening and have the bunch ready to
quiver when the crash comes. As soon as I hear your signal I'll
rush bravely down stairs and you shoot the ceiling. I'll give you
a struggle and chase you outside. Then I'll run you down behind
the barn. There, free from observation, you can shoot a couple of
holes in my coat so that I can produce evidence of a fierce fight,
and then you to the tall timber. I'll crawl breathlessly back to
my palpitating household, and, displaying my wounded coat, declare
everything off. I'll refuse to live any longer in a house where
murder and sudden death occupy the spare room. It looks to me like
a cinchalorum, Bunch, a regular cinchalorum!"

"It sounds good," Bunch acquiesced, "and I'll give you an imitation
of the best little amateur cracksman that ever swung a jimmy. I'll
take a late train out and hang around till it's time to ring the
curtain up. By the way, are there any revolvers on the premises?"

"Not a gun," I answered, "not even an ice-pick. Uncle Peter won't
show fight. All he'll show will be a blonde night gown cutting
across lots to beat the breeze. Aunt Martha will climb to the
attic, Clara J. will be busy doing a scream solo, and Tacks will
crawl under the bed and pull the bed after him. There'll be no
interference, Bunch; it's easy money!"

With this complete understanding we parted and I hustled back to
Jiggersville.