“Oh, thank you, gentleman,” whined the lad, as some one passed. “You don’t know what trouble is;” and he began to devour the biscuit ravenously.
“Not know what trouble is!” cried Frank scornfully. “Do you think fine clothes will keep that out? Oh, I don’t know that I wouldn’t change places with you, after all.”
“Poor old laddie!” said the youth, looking at him in a peculiar way, and with his voice seeming changed by the biscuit in his mouth; “and I thought he was enjoying himself, and feeding the ducks, and not caring a bit.”
“What!” exclaimed Frank wildly.
“Don’t you know me, Frank?”
“Drew!”
“Then the disguise is as right as can be. Keep still. Nonsense! Don’t try to shake hands. Stand at a distance. There’s no knowing who may be watching you. Give me another biscuit. I am hungry, really. There, go on feeding the ducks. How useful they are. Sort of co-conspirators, innocent as they look. I’ll sit down behind you as if watching you, and I can talk when there’s no one near.”
Frank obeyed with his face working, and Drew Forbes threw himself on the grass once more.
“Drew, old fellow, you make me feel sick.”
“What, because I look such a dirty wretch?”