'Well, of all the queer things—and you've done a lot—that's the queerest,' cried Ted, taken aback at this disappointing discovery. But he didn't mean to give up yet, and began again.
'What mischief, Dan?'
'Never you mind. Boys shouldn't bother.'
'But I do want to know, awfully, because I'm your pal, and care for you no end. Always did. Come, now, tell me a good yarn. I love scrapes. I'll be mum as an oyster if you don't want it known.'
'Will you?' and Dan looked at him, wondering how the boyish face would change if the truth were suddenly told him.
'I'll swear it on locked fists, if you like. I know it was jolly, and I'm aching to hear.'
'You are as curious as a girl. More than some—Josie and—and Bess never asked a question.'
'They don't care about rows and things; they liked the mine business, heroes, and that sort. So do I, and I'm as proud as Punch over it; but I see by your eyes that there was something else before that, and I'm bound to find out who Blair and Mason are, and who was hit and who ran away, and all the rest of it.'
'What!' cried Dan, in a tone that made Ted jump.
'Well, you used to mutter about 'em in your sleep, and Uncle Laurie wondered. So did I; but don't mind, if you can't remember, or would rather not.'