“But you can’t swim in such awfully full bloomers,” Sahwah protested.

“That’s so, too,” Hinpoha assented.

“Well, get them as big as you can swim in,” said Migwan pacifically.

“Who’s going to make them?” Sahwah wanted to know.  “We haven’t much time.”

“Oh, just borrow Tiny Armstrong’s regular ones,” Migwan replied.  “They’ll look like Turkish bloomers on you.”

“Won’t she suspect what we’re going to do if I borrow them?” Sahwah demurred.

“Nonsense!  What could she suspect?  She will know of course that you want them for the stunt, but she couldn’t guess what for.”

“We’ve got to have her other pair, too, for the person who is going to impersonate Tiny,” Agony reminded Migwan.

“So we do,” replied Migwan, making a note in her book.  “And her stockings, too, those red and black ones.  We’re going to do that snake business over again.  Somebody will have to get these without Tiny’s knowing it, or she’ll suspect about the snake.  Who’s in her tent?”

“We are,” replied Katherine and Oh-Pshaw.  “We’ll manage to get them for you.  Who’s going to impersonate Tiny Armstrong?”

Migwan squinted her eyes in a calculating manner and surveyed the girls grouped around her.  “It’ll have to be Katherine, I guess,” she finally announced.  “She’s the biggest of us all.  But even she isn’t nearly as big as Tiny,” she added regretfully.

“Couldn’t we put two of us together?” suggested Sahwah.  “Carmen Chadwick is as light as a feather and she could get up on Katherin’s shoulders as easy as not.”

“But we need Katherine to impersonate the Lone Wolf.  She’s the only one who can do it well,” objected Migwan.  “Somebody else will have to be the bottom half of Tiny.  Hinpoha, you’ll do for that part.  Gladys, you’ll be Pom-pom, of course.  There, that’s three councilors taken care of.  As soon as your parts are assigned will you please step over to that side, girls.  Then I can see what I have left.  Now, who’ll be Miss Peckham?”

There was a silence, and all the eligibles looked at one another doubtfully.  Nobody quite dared impersonate Miss Peckham—­and nobody wanted to, for that matter.

“Jo?” Migwan began hesitatingly.  “You’re such a good mimic—­no—­” she broke off decidely, “you have to be Dr. Grayson, of course, because you can play men’s parts so beautifully.”

She looked from one to the other inquiringly.  Her eye fell upon Bengal Virden.  “Bengal, dear—­”

Bengal looked up with a jerk and a grimace of distaste.  “I wouldn’t be Pecky for a thousand dollars,” she declared flatly.  “I hate her, I tell you.”  Then something seemed to occur to her, and a mischievous twinkle came into her eyes.  “Oh, I’ll be her,” she exclaimed, throwing grammar to the winds in her eagerness.  “Please let me.  I want to be, I want to be.”

“All right,” said Migwan relievedly, putting the entry down in her notebook and proceeding with the assignment of parts.  But Agony, having seen the mischievous gleam that came into Bengal’s eyes when she so suddenly changed her mind about impersonating Miss Peckham, wondered as to its meaning.