to give in; and so he contrived to cut up that play-story, and appear hisself at the last without speaking."
"My good friend," cried young Lionel, "we are greatly obliged to you for your story—and we should much like to see little Sophy and her grandfather at your house to-morrow—can we?"
"Certain sure you can—after the play's over; to-night, if you like."
"No, to-morrow; you see my friend is impatient to get back now—we will call to-morrow."
"'Tis the last day of their stay," said the Cobbler. "But you can't be sure to see them safely at my house afore ten o'clock at night—and not a word to Rugge! mum!"
"Not a word to Rugge," returned Lionel; "good-night to you."
The young men left the Cobbler still seated on the milestone, gazing on the stars and ruminating. They walked briskly down the road.
"It is I who have had the talk now," said Lionel, in his softest tone. He was bent on coaxing three pounds out of his richer friend, and that might require some management. For among the wild youngsters in Mr. Vance's profession, there ran many a joke at the skill with which he parried irregular assaults on his purse; and that gentleman, with his nose more than usually in the air, having once observed to such scoffers "that they were quite welcome to any joke at his expense"—a wag had exclaimed, "At your expense! Don't fear; if a joke were worth a farthing, you would never give that permission."
So when Lionel made that innocent remark, the softness of his tone warned the artist of some snake in the grass—and he prudently remained silent. Lionel, in a voice still sweeter, repeated, "It is I who have all the talk now!"
"Naturally," then returned Vance, "naturally you have, for it is you, I suspect, who alone have the intention to pay for it, and three pounds appear to be the price. Dearish, eh?"
"Ah, Vance, if I had three pounds!"
"Tush! and say no more till we have supped. I have the hunger of a wolf."
Just in sight of the next milestone the young travellers turned a few yards down a green lane, and reached a small inn on the banks of the Thames. Here they had sojourned for the last few days, sketching, boating, roaming about the country from sunrise, and returning to supper and bed at nightfall. "It was the pleasantest little inn—an arbor, covered with honey-suckle,
