With a smile Barry went on his way to the stable. The lights were out here, everything was quiet, but he saw a glimmer from Brick’s room.
“Hello!” he called, and he threw a handful of gravel against the window. “Brick, ahoy!”
Brick ran up the blind, opened the window, and thrust out a cautious head.
“Dat you, Mistah Mafferty?”
“Yes, Brick; come down and let me in.”
The colored boy ran nimbly down the stairs, pressed a button, and lighting up the lower part of the stable ushered his friend in.
“Come up to your room,” said Barry, commandingly, and he strode ahead of the lad. Brick, grinning from ear to ear at the honor conferred upon him—for this was the second time that Barry had visited him within a week—followed close at his heels.
When they got into his snug little bedroom Barry sat down and looked about him. Brick was in the act of changing his clothes.
“What are you dressing up for, this time of night?” inquired Barry, suspiciously. “You ought to be going to bed.”
“I aint dressin’ up; I’se dressing down,” giggled Brick. “I’se goin’ fo’ a walk, mistah, an’ I didn’ want fo’ to soil my buttins,” and he glanced lovingly at the bespangled garment of the bed.