“Very well,” I agreed, willing to humor him; “But Beelo will stay here and put the color on you himself.”
Alarm sprang to the boy’s face.
“I won’t!” he answered defiantly, and was turning away, but I caught him by the arm.
“You will,” I said. “I’ll see that you do.”
He slipped from my grasp and stood away, laughing.
“I want to do it myself, sir,” meekly said Christopher.
Beelo precipitately fled.
Why not play with these children? A man who would not was a churl. So Christopher was arrayed as a Senatra, and a whistle called Beelo back.
He danced delightedly round the pitiful figure that Christopher made. It hurt me to see not only how patiently Christopher submitted, but how wholly he entered into the spirit of the masquerade. His pale eyes looked ghastly in his brown face. I called Beelo’s attention to that.
“Oh, that won’t be seen at night!” he exclaimed. The remark did not impress me at the moment.