“My sister Celia calls me Billy; perhaps you had better just ask her for Billy if I’m not there when you gallop up to tell me—that is, if you’re coming yourself. Are you?” he ended wistfully.
“Do you want me to come?” inquired the bandmaster, amused.
“Would you really come?” cried the boy. “Would you really come to visit me?”
“I’ll consider it,” said the bandmaster gravely.
“Do you think you could come to-night?” asked the boy. “We’d certainly be glad to see you—my sister and I. Folks around here like the Malletts and the Colvins and the Garnetts don’t visit us any more, and it’s lonesome sometimes.”
“I think that you should ask your sister first,” suggested the bandmaster.
“Why? She’s loyal!” exclaimed the boy earnestly. “Besides, you’re coming to visit me, I reckon. Aren’t you?”
“Certainly,” said the bandmaster hastily.
“To-night?”
“I’ll do my best, Billy.”