“‘Ham bone am very sweet,’” he sang, one eye on Molly.
“It is certainly wonderful,” exclaimed Professor Green, as he tasted the delicate meat; “but it seems like robbery to deprive the owner of it.”
“Now, Edwin, you keep quiet, please,” interrupted Richard. “I’ve heard that some owners of old hams are just as fond of things sweeter than ham bones. A five-pound box ought to be the equivalent of this, eh?”
“Really, Richard, you go too far,” put in Judith, frowning at her brother.
But Richard took not the slightest notice of her, nor did he pause until he had cleaned the ham bone of every scrap of meat left on it.
“Aren’t you going to catch your train?” asked Judith.
“I think not to-night, Ju-ju,” he answered, smiling amiably. “Edwin, can you put me up? If not, I’ll stop at the inn in the village.”
“No, indeed, you won’t, Dick. You must stop with me. I have an extra bed, solely in hopes you might stay in it some night. And later this evening we might run over—er—a few notes.”
He looked consciously at Richard, then he gave Molly a swift, quizzical glance, remembering probably that he had confided to her and her alone that he was the author of the words of a comic opera.
Having cleared the table, Molly now returned with the coffee. The cups jaggled as she handed them. She was very weary, and her arms ached. When she had reached Professor Edwin Green, Richard Blount, with his nervous, quick manner, suddenly started from his chair and exclaimed: