“Just wantta see him on a message.”
“Well, he ain’t in,” she said loftily. “You better leave the message.”
She started down the street with her armful of books, and Dorothea, approaching from the corner, joined her. Tyke followed them and lounged along beside them.
“Say, kid,” he said, bringing out the greasy envelope, “donno but I will. I c’n confide in you. I see you’re a pretty good sort o’ kid. Looka here!”
But Lib Knox was not the easily flattered sort. She eyed him with suspicion, and looked coldly at the bit of paper he held out to her. When she caught sight of the writing her eyes narrowed and she gave him a quick, veiled glance beneath their fringes. Dorothea, behind her, as ever curious, stretched her neck to see the writing also.
“Know whose name that is?” The man asked the question with alluring mystery in his tone, as if he knew the name himself and had some wonderful information to impart concerning it. But Lib was a smart girl.
“Don’t look like any name at all to me,” she said contemptuously. “Looks like just a piece of writing. Where’d you get it?”
“That I ain’t tellin’ till I find out what you know about it. If you can tell me the name I’ll tell you something your uncle would like real well to know. Most like he’ll give you a box of candy if you tell him.”
Lib tossed her head angrily.
“My uncle ain’t that kind and I can get candy when I want it. I tell you that ain’t anybody’s name at all. It’s just scribbling. Come on, Dorrie, we’ll be late to school.”