“No—sloped,” said Sam, shortly, “cribbed some other chap’s papers I guess—went abroad—we don’t know—don’t want to, either.”
The fierce hostility and resentment in the boy’s voice made it clear to Christopher this was evidently a subject better dropped. He seized the chance of directing Jessie’s attention to Master Jim Sartin, who was brandishing the bread-knife, and plunged hastily into a description of the doings of Charlotte and Max. Mrs. Sartin accepted the diversion, but kept an anxious eye on Sam, who ate hard and seemed to recover some of his ordinary composure with each mouthful, much to Christopher’s amazement. By the time tea was 113 finished he was himself again. There was no lingering then. He went back to work. Christopher said he must go too, and bade the family good-bye. The farewell was as cordial as the welcome had been cold and he clattered downstairs after Sam with many promises to come again.
The two boys talked freely of the passing world as they went through the streets, in the purely impersonal way of their age, and it was with great diffidence and much hesitation Christopher managed to hint he’d like to buy something for the kiddies.
Sam grinned.
“Sweets,” he suggested. “They eat ’em up and leave no mess about.”
Christopher turned out his pockets. There was an unbroken ten shillings, three shillings and some coppers.
They walked on a while gravely and came to a stand before a confectioner’s window.
“Cake,” suggested Sam, with one eye on his companion and one on the show of food within.
“A sugar one?”
“They cost a lot,” said Sam shaking his head, but he followed Christopher inside. Christopher boldly demanded the price of a small wedding cake elaborately iced. It was five shillings.