“Yes, all right; I have done. But, I say, do you think it’s likely that gal will come again? She must know that what she brought wouldn’t last.”
“I think, poor lass, she must have got into such trouble with her people that she daren’t come again.”
“Her people!” cried the boy. “It’s that ugly black-looking nigger of a sweetheart of hers. You had a good sight of him that night when you took aim with your rifle. Why didn’t you pull the trigger? A chap like that’s no good in the world.”
“Just the same as you would if you had had hold of the rifle yourself, Punch—eh?”
“There you go again,” said the boy sulkily. “What a chap you are! You are always pitching it at me like that. Why, of course I should have shot him like a man.”
“Would you?” said Pen, smiling.
“Oh, well, I don’t know. Perhaps I shouldn’t. Such a chap as that makes you feel as you couldn’t be too hard on him. But it wouldn’t be quite the right thing, I suppose. There, don’t bother. It makes my sore place ache. But, oh, shouldn’t I like to tell him what I think of him! I say, don’t you think she may come to-night?”
“No, Punch; I have almost ceased to hope. Besides, I don’t want to depend on people’s charity, though I like to see it I want to be able to do something for ourselves. No, I don’t think she will come any more.”
“I do,” said the boy confidently. “I am beginning to think that she will come after all. She is sure to. She must know how jolly hungry I should be. She looked so kind. A gal like that wouldn’t leave us to starve. She is a nice, soft-hearted one, she is, though she is Spanish. I wouldn’t take no notice, but I see the tears come in her eyes, and one of them dropped on my hand when she leaned over me and looked so sorry because I was in pain. It’s a pity she ain’t English and lived somewhere at home where one might expect to see her again. It is very sad and shocking to have to live in a country like this.”
“Do you feel so hungry now, Punch?”