rd you play
_beautifully_. _Do_ get it."

Mr. Bradford objected further; and was further cajoled by Miss Proctor.
Bobby wondered why he had brought the banjo along, if he didn't want to
play on it. The other men did none of the persuading. Finally Mr.
Bradford procured the instrument. He took some time to tune it; and had
something to say concerning damp air and the strings. Finally he played
the "Spanish Fandango," to the enthusiasm of Miss Proctor and the polite
attention of the other men. This he followed by a song called "Listen to
the Mocking Bird," the chorus to which consisted of complicated gurgling
whistling supposed to represent the song of the mocking bird, though it
is to be doubted if that performer would have recognized himself in it.
Miss Proctor approving of this, Bradford next played a trick piece, in
the course of which he did acrobatics with his instrument, but without
missing a note.

Carlin and Welton finally strolled away unnoticed. The lumberman offered
the other a cigar.

"Ain't no use buckin' the funny man with the banjo, Tommy," he observed
with a rueful grin.

Mr. Bradford now put two pennies under the bridge.

"Makes it sound like a guitar," he explained; and drifted into
thrillingly sentimental selections. He sang three in so low a voice that
Bobby began to think it useless to listen any more; when a loud and
prolonged whistle from the tug drowned all other sounds. Mr. Bradford
looked savage; but the boys were delighted.

"Going to pass the drawbridge!" shrieked Angus.

They raced away to the bow in order to watch the imminence of the great
structure over their heads; to see the smokestack dip back on its hinges
as they passed beneath; and to gloat over the smash of their waves
against the piling of the bridge's foundation. Here Bobby was captured
by Mrs. Orde.

"Here, Bobby," said she, "This is Celia Carleton, and I want you to be
nice to her."

With that she left them staring at each other.

"How do you do?" remarked Bobby gravely.

"How do you do?" said she.

They were no further along.

"I got a new knife," blurted out Bobby, in desperation.

"That's nice," said Celia politely. "Let's see it."

"I haven't got it with me," confessed Bobby. He was ashamed to say that
he was not yet permitted to use it.

He glanced at her sideways. Somehow he liked the fresh clean stiffness
of her starched, skirts, and the biscuit brown of her complexion. He
desired all at once that sh