“I can’t eat another mouthful unless you join.”
“Oh, very well; there is plenty,” said Waller, “and seeing you eat has made me hungry, too.”
No more words were spoken for a time, and at last, with the hunger of both pretty well assuaged, Waller began to note the humour of the position, and in a half-bantering way exclaimed:
“Here, I say, you ought to leave a snack for the soldiers when they come.”
The lad’s hand dropped, and he turned, with a wild look, to fix his eyes on Waller’s.
“Ah,” he said, the next moment, with his face softening, “you are laughing at me.”
“Well, suppose I am. It’s because I am pleased to see you better now.”
“Better! Yes. I think you have saved my life,” said the lad softly. “I say, I wish we could be friends—but no; impossible. You could not be, with one like me.”
“I don’t see why not,” said Waller. “We are good enough friends now. There, I am sorry I knocked you about so much and treated you as I did. I didn’t know you were so weak and hungry. Will you shake hands?”
“Will I shake hands?” cried the lad, with all the effusion of a young Frenchman, and catching the one which Waller stretched out, he held it tightly for a few moments between his own, holding it until Waller drew it away.