“Then I’d dye it blacker,” said Frank.
“Oh, the colour would be right enough, boy,” cried the professor, “but that’s what would let the cat out of the bag.”
“What do you mean?”
“That tongue of yours, my lad. Your speech would betray you directly.”
“Oh, no, it would not,” said Frank. “Mutes are common enough in the East, are they not?”
“Oh, yes, but—”
“Well, I would not talk.”
“Pooh!” cried the professor contemptuously. “You wouldn’t talk? Why, you’ve got a tongue as long as a girl’s. You not talk? Why, you’d be sure to burst out with something in plain English just when our lives were depending upon your silence.”
“Urrr!” growled the young fellow angrily. “Give me credit for a little more common-sense. Do you think, with the success of our expedition and poor Hal’s life and happiness at stake, I couldn’t make a vow to preserve silence for so many months, and keep it?”
“I do think so,” said the professor, clapping one hand down upon the other. “You would find it impossible. What do you say, Bob?”