“To be sure; what do you suppose I've done with them? What a famous receptacle! I say, Louis, did you ever see the inside of the stable over the way?”
“No—I am not very fond of stables.”
“But I suspect there's something worth seeing there,” said Casson; and he proceeded to tell Louis, under a promise of the strictest secrecy, in a manner so exceedingly vulgar and improper that I do not choose to write it, that he believed that the doctor kept his winter apples in the loft of that stable, and concluded by hinting that some of them meant to find them out and help themselves. “We used to do it regularly at old Stennett's, where I went before, Louis,” he continued. “It's such fun: you must lend us your green bag, and come with us.”
“Oh! Casson, how can you think such a thing of me!” exclaimed Louis, shrinking back.
The exclamation was so loud that Casson laid his hand upon his mouth with a muttered angry ejaculation.
“One would think I had spoken of breaking open a house,” said Casson.
“It's stealing,” said Louis, in a tone of anger.
“Nonsense.”
“I tell you, Casson, it is—don't talk to me any more about it—I wish I had never known you!”
Casson burst out laughing. “What a ninny you are!” he exclaimed. “You are as easily frightened as a bird with a pop-gun. And now, I suppose, you will go with this nice little story to some good friend and make something interesting and romantic out of nothing.”