but he only laughed more, and said I was a great kid. Then all of a sudden he happened to think and he looked around to see if anyone was coming. Then he said,
"Are you game to help me in a dark plot?"
Gee, I didn't know what to tell him. "It depends upon how dark it is," I said. Because, jiminy, I wanted to be careful and watch my step. But that only made him laugh a lot. Then he said,
"Well, it isn't exactly a black plot, but it's a kind of a dark brown."
"One thing sure," I said, "you're not a tramp, I know that—I can tell."
"You're a wise little gazabo," he said. "Would you really like to know who I am?"
I told him sure I would.
"Do you think I look like a tramp?" he asked me.
"I think you kind of look like one," I said; "but you don't act like one, and you don't laugh like one."
"I've got blamed little reason to laugh," he said, "because I'm in Dutch, and you've got to do me a good turn. Will you?"
"Good turns are our middle names," I told him,
