“Billy,” he said, “I’ve been sailing under false colors, it seems—but you hoisted them. I think I ought to go.”
The boy looked up at him, startled.
“Good night,” said the bandmaster gravely, rising to his lean height from the chair beside the table. The boy flushed to his hair.
“Don’t go,” he said; “I like you even if you don’t fight!”
Then the bandmaster began to laugh, and the boy’s sister bit her lip and looked at her brother.
“Billy! Billy!” she said, catching his hands in hers, “do you think the only brave men are those who gallop into battle?”
Hands imprisoned in his sister’s, he looked up at the bandmaster.
“If you were ordered to fight, you’d fight, wouldn’t you?” he asked.
“Under those improbable circumstances I think I might,” admitted the young fellow, solemnly reseating himself.
“Celia! Do you hear what he says?” cried the boy.