Uncle Larry was getting into his overcoat. He laughed. The tender light that had been for an instant in his face he had put away again out of sight.
“No; I’m my own ‘’spressman.’ You’ve got some things to learn, Reg, before you grow up.”
“I’d ravver learn ’em now. Tell me ’em! Tell what you do then.”
The old mocking light was back in Uncle Larry’s eyes. This small chap with the earnest little face was good as a play.
“‘Then’? Then, sure, I go to the door and ring the bell. Then I kneel on one knee like this, and hold out the box—”
“The Treasury Box—yes, go on.”
“—Like this. And I say, ‘Fair One, accept this humble offering, I beseech thee’—”
“Accept this hum-bul offering, I—I beseech thee”—the Little Lover was saying it over and over to himself. It was a little hard, on account o’ the queer words in it. He was still saying it after Uncle Larry had gone. His small round face was intent and serious. When he had learned the words, he practised getting down on one knee and holding out an imaginary Treasury Box. That was easier than the queer words, but it made you feel funnier somewhere in your inside. You wanted to cry, and you were a little afraid somebody else would want to laugh.
The next afternoon the Little Lover carried his Treasury Box to Her. He had wrapped all the little treasures carefully in tissue like Uncle Larry’s roses. But there was no beautiful smell creeping out;—there was something a little like a smell, but not a beautiful one. The Little Lover felt sorry for that.
She came to the door. It was a little discomposing on account of there being so little time to get your breath in. I-it made you feel funny.