“That’s all right,” said Bobby, relaxing from scorn to benevolence, “I’ll teach you myself.”
“Upon my word!” ejaculated Compton, and fell into meditation, from which he was presently aroused by the strange behavior of the people on the street. Were they staring and laughing at him? Turning, he discovered Bobby, a little to the rear of him, doing the Bowery walk and wearing a face becoming a hardened pickpocket.
“See here, you young imp! You’re giving our show away.”
“Oh, I never thought of that!” cried Bobby, putting on the air of a Sunday-school superintendent. “I just can’t help it,” he went on. “I just love to act.”
“Why, have you ever acted before?”
“No; but I just love to.”
“Did you ever see a church more charmingly situated?” asked the comedian.
They were passing the Church of the Blessed Sacrament, a church hardly to be seen from the sidewalk. It stood well back from the street, hidden by large palms, pepper trees, and a profusion of flowers and foliage.
“Is that a Catholic church?” the boy inquired.
“It certainly is.”