“And you think you could pass for a girl? You’re slim and soft enough, but I’ll bet you would give it away inside of an hour.” The boy laughed, and shot a swift glance at O’Connor under his long lashes. “I appeared as a girl in one of the acts of the show for years. Nobody ever suspected that I wasn’t.” “We might try it, but we have no clothes for the part.” “Leave that to me. I’ll buy some to-day while you are looking the ground over for our first assault an the impregnable fortress.” “I don’t know. It seems to me pretty risky. But you might buy the things, and we’ll see how you look in them. Better not get all the things at the same store. Sort of scatter your purchases around.” They separated at the door of the hotel, Frank to choose the materials he needed, and O’Connor to look up O’Halloran and get a permit to visit the prison from the proper authorities. When the latter returned triumphantly with his permit he found the boy busy with a needle and thread and surrounded by a litter of dress-making material. “I’m altering this to fit me and fixing it up,” he explained. “Holy smoke! Who taught you to sew?” asked Bucky, in surprise. “My aunt, Mrs. Hardman. I used to do all the plain sewing on my costumes. Did you see your friend and get your permit?” “You bet I did, and didn’t. Mickey was out, but I left him a note. The other thing I pulled off all right. I’m to be allowed to visit the prison and make a careful inspection of it at my leisure. There’s nothing like a pull, son.” “Does the permit say you are to be allowed to steal any one of the prisoners you take a fancy to? asked Frank, with a smile. “No, it forgot to say that. When do you expect to have that toggery made?” “A good deal of it is already made, as you see. I’m just making a few changes. Do you want to try on your suit?” “Is _this_ mine?” asked the ranger, picking up with smiling contempt the rather gaudy blouse that lay on a chair. “Yes, sir, that is yours. Go and put it on and we’ll see how it fits.” Bucky returned a few minutes later in his gipsy uniform, with a deprecating grin. “I’ll have to stain your face. Then you’ll do very well,” said Frank, patting and pulling at the clothes here and there. “It’s a good fit, if I do say it that chose it. The first thing you want to do when you get out in it is to roll in the dust and get it soiled. No respectable gipsy wears new clothes. Better have a tear or two in it, too.” “You ce’tainly should have been a girl, the way you take to clothes, Curly.” “Making up was my business for a good many years, you know,” returned the lad quietly. “If you’ll step into the other room for about fifteen minutes I’ll show you how well I can do it.” It was a long half-hour later that Bucky thumped on the door between the rooms. “Pretty nearly ready, kid? Seems to me it is taking you a thundering long time to get that outfit on.” “How long do you think it ought to take a lady to dress?”