Roxy Hastings — page 106: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ROXY WASTINGS. 97 stool which stood near the door. Alfred did not begin to dress for his new character until after seven o’clock, at which hour their supper was usually sent in, but when this was received, and they were pretty sure of being un- molested for a considerable time, he and his coadjutors went vigorously to work. The problem before them was not only to disguise Lee, but to robe Hartley in the lieuten- ant's clothes, while some kind of a lay figure should sup- ply Louis’ place in the bed. Then, if Alfred got out unchallenged, the guard looking in, would still seem to see the two prisoners left, while Louis, personating his friend, sat at his bedside, talked to his bolster, and gave to the escaped man, perhaps, a whole night’s start of his pursuers. This was their magnificent programme, and it was one at which at present all could work ; for while the prisoners each dressed himself, Luke was busy in. constructing a figure out of the pillows of the two beds, together with some of the discarded apparel, which should have some re- semblance to a human being. His work was easily accom- plished, especially as Louis often lay down with his clothes on, and now his stuffed coat with one bent arm thrown outside of the blankets supplied his place. Something dark was found for a head, and as the position of the image im- plied that the face was turned toward the wall, the ab- sence of so material a part of the person would not be readily noticed. The least scrutiny, of course, would reveal everything, but the figure was good enough for unsuspicious eyes, ina room half lighted at best, and which it was hoped the guard would not enter until twilight or a still later hour. The leutenant’s disguise was perfect. Nota stroke was wanting to complete the resemblance to the supposed clergyman. “ After all,” he said, when Luke and Louis had exhausted their powers in expressing their delight at the inimitable transformation—as Lee solemnly paced the room with the Bible and psalm-book under his arm—“ after all I am but the counterfeit of a counterfeit.” No one could be more indisposed to make a jest of sacred. things, or of the ministerial calling, than Alfred Lee. His education, his habits of thought, the momentous peril which he was confronting, all forbade such a course; but he felt fully justified in all the strategy in which he was now engaged, while his sable coadjutor, who was in reality a member of the Methodist church, was equally conscien- Gomichoo cS (Elo)