“Tell me about that, will you?” Bones could be heard saying to himself, as he ran along just behind them, and evidently “listening for all he was worth,” as Lanky remarked later on; for despite his skepticism Bones was himself beginning to feel a little touch of the fever that was working on Lanky. “Only this far,” Frank went on to say, in response to the accusation of his chum; “there might be something in what you’ve got on your brain. But the chances are ten to one, Lanky, that in the end it’ll prove to be only a little gypsy girl who has been bad and spanked by her ma.” “Oh, now it’s only ten to one; is it?” demanded the other, quickly; “and a little while back the odds were a hundred to one. Shows that you’re falling to my idea pretty rapid, Frank. Now, I’ve been in gypsy camps heaps of times and so have both of you. Will you promise to give me a straight answer, if I ask you a question?” “You know I will, Lanky,” said Frank. “If it’s nothing personal, I’ll promise, too,” came from the cautious Bones, who may have had a few secrets of his own to which he did not wish to confess. “Did you ever hear a gypsy child cry, either one of you?” demanded Lanky, with a triumphant look on his thin face, as though he felt that this question was what he would call a “clincher.” Frank paused a brief time as if for reflection. “I never did!” he finally replied, with emphasis. “How about you, Bones?” pursued Lanky. “Oh, well, I don’t remember about it,” replied the other; “but then, what does that prove? I reckon they do yell when they get a lickin’, just the same as other kids; only we never happened to be there when the old lady’s slipper was getting in its work.” But Frank saw the point Lanky was making, and appreciated it, too. “I’ve been told,” the tall boy went on to say, “that gypsies bring up their children about like the old Injuns used to do. They learn when little kids never to show what they feel. Never heard of a red Injun boy weepin’; did you, Bones? Well, I guess nobody ever did; and gypsies, they’re about in the same class.” “Well, and even if that’s right, Lanky, how do we know but what the old queen was givin’ the baby its lesson in keepin’ from cryin’? Sure, somethin’ shut the noise off right quick, I acknowledge that. But you just can’t make me believe in any silly yarn like a stolen child, and such stuff. Bah! next thing you’ll be lookin’ for a strawberry mark on my left arm, and tryin’ to make out I was changed in the cradle.” But Lanky would not take any notice of these slurs. Frank could see that he was deeply impressed with the idea that the little dark-faced girl at the window of the big van had actually appealed to him for help in her childish way. And, knowing Lanky as he did, Frank felt positive that this would not be the last of the affair.