Jud was embarrassed—at least, he showed every sign of being embarrassed. “It’s—it’s just a little thing with a lady’s name engraved on it.”
The soldier laughed. “Do you think you could find him in there?”
“Between the two of us I think we could,” Jud replied promptly.
“Well, be quick about it then.”
The boys were as quick as a flash.
“Young Tories,” the soldier said to a bystander as they entered the building.
Jud turned abruptly, but Don grasped his arm and pulled him along. “Don’t be a hothead,” he whispered.
It was only luck that made Jud spy Bluster a few moments later in the crowded hall. The sergeant-major was sitting on a chair at the extreme right of the hall. His hat was on the floor beneath the chair, and he was leaning back with his arms folded across his chest.
More than one Redcoat looked inquiringly at the boys as they walked round the chairs and benches, and thought no doubt that they were the sons of some prominent Tory who had brought them with him. As Jud was passing behind Bluster’s chair he dropped his hat and, in picking it up, succeeded in laying the ornamental snuff-box on the hat of the soldier—a circumstance that puzzled the fellow till the end of his days.
After that the boys found a secluded corner where they stood, in the shadows, and waited for the play to begin. In front of them were Redcoats, talking and laughing and smoking. There were a great many ladies, all of whom had come to laugh at the expense of the townsfolk of Boston and of the Continental army outside the town. Fans were moving lightly to and fro, though there was no need of fans in the cold building; scabbards and buckles were clacking against the wooden seats; and the lights round the small stage jarred and flickered as couples moved in front of them to their seats.