"Well, you might call it so." The man drew from his pocket a badge which was the exact counterpart of that worn by the young aviator. "Let me have a look at it," said Dave. "No, sir." "Why not?" "You can see what it is, can't you? I don't want to get into trouble, boss." "I'm not going to get you into any trouble," declared Dave. "Then why do you want to look at the badge? It's no different from yours, is it?" "Are there no marks on it?" "Why, I didn't notice. Say, yes, there are," announced the tramp, scrutinizing the little piece of metal on the back of the badge. "Looks like T. O." Dave put his hand in his pocket. "What do you want for it?" he asked. Evidently the tramp was about to say "fifteen cents." He shrewdly, however, observed an interested if not an eager expression on Dave's face, arid added: "--ty cents." "It's yours," replied Dave, promptly producing the coin. "Wh-e-w!" Dave stared, started and gave utterance to a prolonged whistle. He came to his feet with a shock. Upon the rear plate of the badge were scratched two letters, indeed--but the tramp had read them wrong. As read by Dave they were a mine of information. Dave's mind ran rapidly. He sat down again on the bench. The tramp grinned broadly as Dave turned an eager and excited face upon him. "Why," he chuckled, "you're real friendly, aren't you?" "No trifling," said Dave seriously. "I'll give you a good deal more than fifty cents if you tell me truthfully and right away how you came by that badge." "How much now?" "Two dollars." "The information is yours, Cap," answered the tramp, with an assumed air of grandness. "I found it." "When?" "At one o'clock yesterday morning." "Where?" "By the fence of the big Fly factory down yonder." "You mean the Interstate works?" "That's the place, I guess." Dave became more interested than ever. He handed a two dollar bill to the tramp without further question. "Now, my man," he said, "I've been square with you." "That's right," assented the tramp. "I want you to tell me all about how you came by that badge." "Well, boss, I'm troubled with asthma, and have to sleep out of doors nights." "Go on." "The police in the city know me moderately well, and I prefer the suburbs." "Don't fool--give me the facts." "Night before last I camped down in a grassy spot near the fence of the big Fly factory. It must have been about midnight when I was waked up. I heard somebody say: 'Oh, at take it!'" "Who was it?" "A boy about your size." "What was he doing?" asked Dave. "He was up on top of the fence. He had climbed up one of the slanting outside supports, I guess. You know there's two rows of barbed wire a-top of the boards. Well, there he was, making a great fuss." "What about?" inquired Dave. "The back of his coat was all tangled up in the barbs. He couldn't pull it loose. Then I heard some voices speak on the inside of the fence. There were two men there."