"Sure, I've been thinking hard, sor, and all I can get hold of is one
idaya, and that's as shlippery as an oysther out of its shell."

"Speak, man, what is it?"

"To wait a bit, and thin go round wid a thick shtick and bate all their
heads."

"Oh, nonsense!" cried Mr Braine.

"That's what I said to meself, sor, for I saw while I was quieting one,
he would make a noise, and--ye see if I could hit all their heads at
wance."

"Hush! silence!" said the doctor. "Braine, the only thing I can propose
is to fill a vessel with wine and--drug it."

"No," said Mr Braine, sternly. "For one thing they are Mussulmans, and
it is forbidden; some would not drink. For another--"

"They'd be suspicious, and would not touch it," said Frank, quickly.

"Quite right, Frank," said his father.

"Then if I medicated some cigars," whispered the doctor.

"Oh, then," said Frank, "they'd roll them in the waists of their
sarongs, and save them to cut up and smoke in their hubble-bubbles
to-morrow."

"Yes; it is hopeless," said the doctor, despondently; and there was a
long silence broken by Tim.

"Whisht! masther dear," he said, "would the rat poison taste much?"

"Poison? No. Who said a word about poison? I should only send them to
sleep."

"Oh!" said Tim, "a short slape; not the very long one. Would it taste,
sor?"

"No, my man; why?"

"Thin, bedad, I have it. Ye nivver touched the shmall cakes for dinner:
put some of the stuff into thim, and I'll shtale out with a whole
trayful and a bottle of wine from down below, jist as if it's me being
civil to the bastes, and I'll offer 'em the wine, and they won't touch
it, but I will, and dhrink of it heartily. They won't think there's
anny desait in it then, and I'll offer 'em the cakes, and ate a shpare
one or two that I'll kape on one side."

"Tim, you're a scoundrel!" cried Mr Braine, excitedly.

"Sure, that's what my mother always said, sor," replied Tim, modestly;
"but, masther dear, ye wouldn't put any rat poi--shlaping stuff, I mane,
into the wine."

"And rob ourselves of our right hand?" said the doctor, warmly. "No!"

"Thank ye, sor," said Tim. "I thought I'd say that, for ye may remimber
once making a mistake, and nearly cut off your right hand--I mane
meself."

"It was not a mistake, Tim, but an experiment with one of the native
medicines."

"Faix, it just was, sor, and I'll niver forget it. But ye'll look
loively, sor. There's plinty of the little cake