Dick, ever mindful of the welfare and appearance of the theatre, unhooked from the wall a huge shield, which mayhap had served some favourite knight of yore, and, using it as a tray, proceeded to gather the scattered fruit.
“Have an orange?” he inquired of Strings, who still stood in a reflective mood in the centre of the room, as he rested in his labours by him.
“How; do they belong to you?” demanded Strings.
“Oh, no,” admitted Dick, “but–”
The fiddler instantly assumed an air of injured innocence.
“How dare you,” he cried, “offer me what don’t belong to you?” He turned upon the boy almost ferociously at the bare thought. “Honesty is the best policy,” he continued, seriously. “I have tried both, lad”; and, in his eagerness to impress upon the boy the seriousness of taking that which does not belong to you, he gestured inadvertently with the hand which till now had held the stolen orange well behind him.
Dick’s eye fell upon it, and so did Strings’s. There was a moment’s awkwardness, and then both burst into a peal of joyous laughter.
A FRIEND EVEN UNTO HER WORST ENEMY.