"What's them?" I says.

     "Warnings to the people that something is up. Sometimes it's done one way, sometimes another. But there's always somebody spying around that gives notice to the governor of the castle. When Louis XVI. was going to light out of the Tooleries a servant-girl done it. It's a very good way, and so is the nonnamous letters. We'll use them both. And it's usual for the prisoner's mother to change clothes with him, and she stays in, and he slides out in her clothes. We'll do that, too."

     "But looky here, Tom, what do we want to WARN anybody for that something's up? Let them find it out for themselves--it's their lookout."

     "Yes, I know; but you can't depend on them. It's the way they've acted from the very start--left us to do EVERYTHING. They're so confiding and mullet-headed they don't take notice of nothing at all. So if we don't GIVE them notice there won't be nobody nor nothing to interfere with us, and so after all our hard work and trouble this escape 'll go off perfectly flat; won't amount to nothing--won't be nothing TO it."

     "Well, as for me, Tom, that's the way I'd like."

     "Shucks!" he says, and looked disgusted. So I says: