“Oh, I don’t make a practice of parading my virtues,” began Neale, when Agnes stopped him with:
“I should say you didn’t, Neale O’Neil. Let me tell you it takes quite a number to make a parade.”
“Got me there! Got me there!” admitted the boy, grinning. He did not mind the tartness of his girl chum’s tongue, now that the little ones were found. Everybody was joyful over the reunion.
The king of the Gypsies had been examining the automobile most curiously during this time.
“Fine car,” he said to Neale. “I’m thinking some of getting one myself. Only trouble is, sure to frighten the horses, and if we didn’t have horses to trade they wouldn’t believe we were Gypsies,” and he smiled with a wonderful flash of strong, white teeth.
Neale laughed. “I suppose pretty soon all up-to-date Gypsies will go about the country in auto-vans instead of those green and yellow painted wagons,” he suggested.
“Mebbe,” said the man. “We had a couple of men here one night not long ago with a car. They came from Milton. At least, I heard one of them say so.”
Agnes was beside Neale. Suddenly she seized his arm and squeezed it tightly.
“Oh, Neale!” she gasped.
The boy had noted the significance of King David’s speech too. He nodded to the girl and asked the big Gypsy at the same time: