One of the men whistled a quick tune, and Will’s feet rattled over the floor in the most astonishing steps, relieving his feelings now and then by a somerset, or a dance on his hands.
“Hi, lads! let the music out,” he cried. “That’s your style! Heel and toe. Ain’t I a screamer? Just observe me.”
The next instant he was at the top of a high step-ladder, singing a negro melody for dear life, and keeping time with hands and feet on the boards.
“Hush! here comes Mr. Leonard,” cried a scout. “He has heard all that rascally noise. Limber up and get to work quick.”
The men hastened to various avocations, somewhat to Will’s surprise. He was as honest as the sun, and would never have thought of such deceit. He had, all his life, fathered all his actions.
When Mr. Leonard appeared, Will was seated in his shirt-sleeves on a dry-goods box, whistling in a low tone, and keeping time with his heels.
Mr. Leonard looked inquiringly around, a look of displeasure on his face.
“What has been going on here!” he asked, sharply. “I heard an uproar all the way down to my office. You are all suddenly at work. What have you been doing, boy?”
“Nothing. Only killing time,” said Will, indifferently. “We kinder run out of work, and I wanted to learn these fellows a South street wharf break-down. Want to see me do it?”
Will jumped from his box and struck an attitude.