"Oh," sneered Signor Antonio, "so he's gone to attend a sale? Very good, that's all right. The parcel was a notice about a sale----"
"Of musical instruments, I know, sir. Jacobs told me."
"You speak too much to Jacobs," cried Cain; "remember you're engaged to marry me, Jane."
"Stuff and nonsense," said Signor Antonio, who in spite of his Italian name and looks did not speak his own language; "you'll not marry the girl."
"But I shall," said Cain, setting his teeth; "mind your own business."
"This is my business, you brat----"
"Jane," said Cain pointing to the hotel, "yonder is Mrs. Whiffles waving to you. Drive over. I'll send you my address, and you can write to me. Goodbye, dear."
He would have climbed on the cart and kissed her, but that the so-called Italian drew him back. Jane, rather started and puzzled by the dominion this stranger seemed to exercise over Cain, drove hastily away to the curb where fat Mrs. Whiffles stood waving her fat arms. She looked back to see Cain and Antonio in fierce conversation, and dreaded a quarrel.
And indeed there would have been a quarrel but for the boy's self-possession. Cain appeared to have far more command of his temper than the older man, and spoke quietly enough. "See here," he said, "I won't have you interfering with my affairs."
"Do you know who I am?" demanded Antonio again.