"The lion is a dear old creature to the cub," he replied, "but I am anxious to meet this gentleman of whom I have heard so much, so you had better not invite me in, for I will accept. A lion's den would be a happy relief to the gayety of The Locks, where we go on—the spectres and I—in the merriest fashion imaginable."
Dorris seemed determined to be gay, and as they walked along he several times suggested another laugh, saying, "now, all together," or, "all ready; here we go," as a signal for them to commence, in such a queer way that the girl could not help joining.
"I am like the organ," he said, "gay or sad, at your pleasure. Just at present I am a circus tune, but if you prefer a symphony, you have only to say the word. I am sorry, though, that you cannot shut a lid down over me, and cause me to be oblivious to everything until you appear again. Something tells me that the stout gentleman approaching is the lion."
They were now in the vicinity of the home of the Bentons', and the girl laughingly replied that the stout gentleman was her father. By the time they reached the gate, he was waiting for them, and glaring at Dorris from under his shaggy eyebrows. Annie presented the stranger to her father, who explained who he was, and said that, having been attracted by the music in the church, he had taken the liberty of walking home with the player.
"I have the habit myself," old Thompson grunted, evidently relieved to know that Dorris was not a lover, and looking at him keenly.
He held the gate open for the girl, who walked in, and then closed it, leaving Dorris on the outside. He raised his hat, wished them good night, and walked away, and he imagined when he looked back that the girl was standing at the door looking after him.
CHAPTER IX.
THE "APRON AND PASSWORD."
The guests at the hotel, with their dull wit and small gossip, had disappeared, and the proprietor was seated at the long table in the dining-room, eating his supper, with no companion save Silas Davy, the patient man-of-all-work.