"One thing sure," I said, "you're not a tramp, I know that—I can tell."
"You're a wise little gazabo," he said. "Would you really like to know who I am?"
I told him sure I would.
"Do you think I look like a tramp?" he asked me.
"I think you kind of look like one," I said; "but you don't act like one, and you don't laugh like one."
"I've got blamed little reason to laugh," he said, "because I'm in
Dutch, and you've got to do me a good turn. Will you?"
"Good turns are our middle names," I told him, "but anyway, I'd like to know who you are—that's sure."
Then he said, "I'm Lieutenant Donnelle, Mr. Donnelle's son. And I guess
I had a right to run away from the boat, didn't I?"
"G-o-o-d night!" I said.