"
The tramp's face suddenly took on a peculiar look, but it was gone
as quickly.
"I gives me woid. I won't open me trap to no one."
"Meaning you won't say anything about it?" smiled Ned inquiringly.
"Dat's it. Mum's de woid. I won't open me trap."
"Nor write anything?"
The furtive look came back, this time more pronounced.
"Me to write! Wit wot? Me new typewriter?"
"That isn't an answer. Do you promise, if we send you with Buck,
that you'll neither tell nor write nor make known in any way what
you learn about what we are doing?"
"Say, look here, boss. Quit yer kiddin'. Me name is Lippe and
mebbe I shoot it off a bit too frequent now and then, but you don't
need to be afeered o' me peachin' to de udder'Bos.'"
"I'm not afraid of that," continued Ned. "We don't care what you
tell all the tramps this side of Kansas City. But we don't want you
to print anything more about us in the Comet."
Hardly a flush came on the tramp's face. There was a quick movement
of the lips as if he were about to make protest and then he laughed
outright.
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