These last three days the camp were as a house divided against itself, as far as the Avenue and the Alley were concerned.  Such a gathering of groups into corners, such whispering and giggling, such sudden scattering at the approach of one from the other side!  Sahwah spent two whole afternoons over on the far side of Whaleback, rehearsing her shipwreck, while the rest of the Alleyites worked up their parts on shore, trying to imitate the voices and characteristics of the various councilors.  All went fairly well except the combination Tiny Armstrong.  Carmen Chadwick, on top of Hinpoha, and draped up in Tiny’s clothes, made a truly imposing figure that drew involuntary applause from the rest of the cast, but when Tiny spoke, the weak, piping voice that issued from the gigantic figure promptly threw them all into hysterics.  The real Tiny’s voice was as deep and resonant as a fog horn.

“That’ll never do!” gasped Migwan through her tears of merriment.  “That doesn’t sound any more like Tiny than a chipping sparrow sounds like a lion.  We’ll have to get somebody with a deeper voice for the upper half of Tiny.”

“But there isn’t anybody else as light as Carmen,” Hinpoha protested, “and I can’t carry anybody that’s any heavier.”

Migwan wrinkled her brows and considered the matter.

“Oh, leave it the way it is,” proposed Jo Severance.  “They’ll never notice a little thing like that.”

“Yes, they will too,” Gladys declared.  “Anyway, you can’t hear what Carmen says, and we want the folks to hear Tiny’s speech, because it’s so funny.”

“But what are we going to do about it?” asked Migwan in perplexity.

“I know,” said Katherine, rising to the occasion, as usual, “let the other half of Tiny do the talking.  Hinpoha can make her voice quite deep and loud.  It doesn’t make any difference which half of Tiny talks, as long as the people hear it.”

“Just the thing!” exclaimed Migwan delightedly.  “Katherine, that head of yours will make your fortune yet.  All right, Hinpoha, you speak Tiny’s lines.”

Hinpoha complied, and the effect of her voice coming apparently from beneath Tiny’s ribs, while Tiny’s mouth up above remained closed, was a great deal funnier than the first way.

“Never mind,” said Migwan firmly, while the rest wept with laughter on each other’s shoulders, “it sounds more like Tiny than the other way.  You might stand with your back turned while you talk if Sinbad can’t keep his face straight when he looks at you.  You’d all better practice keeping your faces straight though.  Katherine, you won’t forget to get that gaudy blanket off the Lone Wolf’s bed, will you?”

Migwan, her classic forehead streaked with perspiration and red color from the notebook in her hands, directed the rehearsal of her production all through the hot afternoon, until the lengthening shadows on the island warned them that is was time to get back to camp and prepare for the real performance.  The stunts were to begin at six-thirty, and would be held in the open space in front of Mateka, overlooking the river.  The Avenue’s stunt was to go on first, as the long end had fallen to them in the drawing of the cuts.