“I’ll bet you haven’t!”
“Well, then——”
“No, I won’t!”
“Oh, all right,” said Cotton, carelessly, “but I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Merrow. You tell me who the fellows were, and I’ll let you have that stamp for just half what I asked for it; and I’ll promise, crossing my heart, not to breathe a word about it to any one.”
“Don’t see why you want to know so much,” grumbled Harry. “And, anyway, I don’t want the stamp that bad.” But he began to wonder whether it would do any one any harm if he revealed the names of the practical jokers. If Cotton kept the knowledge to himself, no one, surely, would be any the worse off. The trouble, however, was that Cotton didn’t impress Harry as being a youth who would think twice about breaking his word.
“You don’t know them in spite of all your blowing,” laughed Cotton, tantalizingly.
“I do, too,” growled Harry.
“Then—” Cotton hesitated for a moment, and went on with a palpable effort—“then I’ll give you that stamp if you’ll tell, Merrow! After all, I’ve got one like it; and if you pay me cash for it, I’ll just spend it in a twinkle. Guess I’d rather satisfy my curiosity.”
Harry was doing some deep and hard thinking. Cotton pushed the stamp across the top of the little table, and Harry’s eyes glued themselves to it. He didn’t know when he’d have another chance to acquire a stamp of that sort. Certainly, he would never again have one offered him for nothing! He had a great mind to accept the bargain, only—only why did Cotton want to know? Supposing he broke his word, and told the names at Broadwood? The fellows there were still pretty angry about the trick that had been played on them, and maybe they’d get their revenge by divulging the names to the Principal.
“What do you say?” urged Cotton.