“Nothing,” I replied; and knowing how easy it was to get up a quarrel with the scion, I began to move on.
“Come here; I want you,” added Mr. Waddie, in a tone which seemed to leave no alternative but obedience.
“I can’t. I have to go to the steamboat wharf,” I ventured to suggest.
“Oh, come here—will you? I won’t keep you but a minute.”
Mr. Waddie was almost invariably imperious; but now he used a coaxing tone, which I could not resist. I could not help seeing that there was something about him which was strange and unnatural—a forced expression and manner, that it bothered me to explain. If the young gentleman was engaged in any mischief, he was sufficiently accustomed to it to do without any of the embarrassment which distinguished his present demeanor. But I could not see anything wrong, and he did not appear to be engaged in any conspiracy against the canal boat, or the honest skipper in command of it. Appearances, however, are often delusive, and they could hardly be otherwise when Mr. Waddie attempted to look amiable and conciliatory.
“You are a good fellow, Wolf,” he added.
I knew that before, and the intelligence was no news to me; yet the condescension of the scion was marvellous in the extreme, and I wondered what was going to happen, quite sure that something extraordinary was about to transpire.
“What do you want of me, Waddie?” I asked, curiously.
“I’m going up to the steamboat wharf, and I want you to help me wind up my kite-line,” he added, bustling about as though he meant what he said.
“How came your kite-line over there when your kite is up here?”