While the applause was still vibrating through the house, while the curtain was still rising and falling to the repeated appearances of the players, he slipped his hand into his pocket, took something quickly out, and when she turned after the final curtain fall, Jill beheld, standing upon the velvet railing of the box, a little man all in brass, with one hand resting aristocratically upon his hip and the other stretched out as though to take her own.
Surprise and question filled her eyes. She looked up at John. She looked back at the little brass man, and the little brass man looked back at her. It may not have been that he raised his hat; but he had all the appearance of having just done so.
"Did you put that there?" she asked.
John nodded. She picked him up, and once her fingers had touched him, the spell of his dignity was cast.
"What is he? Where did you get him? What does he mean?" One question fell fast upon another.
"He's my little brass man," said John. "He's an old seal, over a hundred years old----" And he told her the whole story.
When he had finished, the curtain rose once more--outside the Café Momus with the babel of children and the hum and laughter of a crowd that only a city southeast of the Thames can know or understand. Through all the act, Jill sat with the little brass man standing boldly beside her. When it was over, she turned to him again.
"Aren't you very miserable when you have to--to part with him?" she asked.
"Very.--He comes back as soon as possible. But I've made a resolve."
"What's that?"