ave stolen up in the night and rushed in
here," pointing again. Marco thought he was right. The Rat had argued
it all out, and had studied Melzarr as he might have studied a puzzle
or an arithmetical problem. He was very clever, and as sharp as his
queer face looked.

"I believe you would make a good general if you were grown up," said
Marco. "I'd like to show your maps to my father and ask him if he
doesn't think your stratagem would have been a good one."

"Does he know much about Samavia?" asked The Rat.

"He has to read the newspapers because he writes things," Marco
answered. "And every one is thinking about the war. No one can help
it."

The Rat drew a dingy, folded paper out of his pocket and looked it over
with an air of reflection.

"I'll make a clean one," he said. "I'd like a grown-up man to look at
it and see if it's all right. My father was more than half-drunk when
I was drawing this, so I couldn't ask him questions. He'll kill
himself before long. He had a sort of fit last night."

"Tell us, Rat, wot you an' Marco'll 'ave ter do. Let's 'ear wot you've
made up," suggested Cad. He drew closer, and so did the rest of the
circle, hugging their knees with their arms.

"This is what we shall have to do," began The Rat, in the hollow
whisper of a Secret Party. "THE HOUR HAS COME. To all the Secret Ones
in Samavia, and to the friends of the Secret Party in every country,
the sign must be carried. It must be carried by some one who could not
be suspected. Who would suspect two boys--and one of them a cripple?
The best thing of all for us is that I am a cripple. Who would suspect
a cripple? When my father is drunk and beats me, he does it because I
won't go out and beg in the streets and bring him the money I get. He
says that people will nearly always give money to a cripple. I won't
be a beggar for him--the swine--but I will be one for Samavia and the
Lost Prince. Marco shall pretend to be my brother and take care of me.
I say," speaking to Marco with a sudden change of voice, "can you sing
anything? It doesn't matter how you do it."

"Yes, I can sing," Marco replied.

"Then Marco will pretend he is singing to make people give him money.
I'll get a pair of crutches somewhere, and part of the time I will go
on crutches and part of the time on my platform. We'll live like
beggars and go wherever we want to. I can whiz past a man and give the
sign and no one will know. Some times Mar