"Bosephus," Horatio had said, "we must have something extra. I should like a real old-fashioned dinner. One such as I used to have; but, of course, that is all over now." And there was an untamed, regretful look in his eyes.
"Ratio," said Bo, "we have got a lot of money—nearly two hundred dollars. We can afford to have something good. I will buy a duck and a turkey and maybe some pies. We'll take a holiday and eat from morning till night if we feel like it."
The Bear smiled at this thought and touched the strings of the violin.
"Oh, we'll buy a tender turkey, and we'll buy a youthful duck,
And some pies, perhaps, and cookies, and some doughnuts, just for luck,
And we'll take our Christmas dinner where the balmy breezes stray,
And we'll spread it in the sunshine and we'll eat—all—day."
Suddenly he paused in his singing and listened. They were coming out into an open space and there was a sound of a voice speaking. Somebody was talking in a foreign language that Bo did not understand, but the Bear trembled with eagerness.
"Bo," he whispered, "that's Italian. That's the way my first teacher talked. The one that abused me—and died."
The Bear licked out his tongue fiercely at this memory and pushed forward into the open, the little boy following. As they stepped out where they could see, Bosephus uttered an exclamation and Horatio a snort of surprise. By the roadside sat a dark-browed, villainous-looking Italian and before him stood a miserable half-starved bear cub, which he was trying to teach. He would speak a few words to it and then beat it fiercely with a heavy stick. The little bear cowered and trembled and could not obey. Horatio gave a low dangerous growl as Bo held him back. The Italian turned and saw them.
"What are you beating that cub for?" asked Bo, sternly.
The Italian looked at him evilly.
"Maka him grow an' dance an' playa fid, lika yo' bear," he said, sullenly. "Soa he maka da mun'."