Why should he stay here to spoil their waking hour? The thought came to him suddenly. No; he would surrender his apartment to them. He was free and foot-loose; he could go elsewhere. He would go elsewhere.
Softly he tip-toed to his own corner of the car, looking over his shoulder with anxious eyes to see that his movements did not disturb them. He gathered up his belongings: an ancient violin case, a stout walking stick, a goodly sized pack done up in gaudy cloth, a well-worn pair of sandals with long, frayed lacings. As gently he stole back to the door. Here he sat down, with his feet hanging outside the car. Then, with many a sly, wary glance at his good comrades, he put on his sandals and laced them up the leg. He tossed a kiss to the sleeping girl, his dark gypsy face aglow with admiration and mischief, and was about to blow out the light of his candle. Then he changed his mind. He arose and stood over them again, looking long and solemnly at the face of the sleeping girl. Ah, yes, she was the most beautiful he had ever seen--the very fairest. He had known her sisters, but-no, they were not like this one. With a sly grimace of envy he shook his fist at the tall man whose leg served as a pillow for the tired head.
The girl looked wan and tired--and hungry. Poor thing! Never had he seen one so sweet and lovely as she; never had he seen such a shockingly muddy mackintosh, however, as the one she wore, never were hands so dirty as the slender ones which lay limp before her. With a determined shake of his head and a new flash of the eye he calmly seated himself and began to open his ragged pack. Once he paused, a startled look in his face. He caught sight of the revolver at Truxton's side for the first time. The instant of alarm passed and a braver smile than ever came. Ah, here was a knight who would fight for his lady love! Good fellow! Bravo!
At last his small store of food lay exposed. Without hesitation he divided the pieces of smoked venison, giving one part to himself, two to the sleepers; then the miller's bread and the cheese, and the bag of dates he had bought the day before. He tied up his own slender portion and would have whistled for the joy of it all had he not bethought himself in time.
From one of his pockets he drew out tobacco and cigarette papers. With his back planted up against the wall of the car, his legs crossed and his feet wiggling time to the inward tune he sang, he calmly rolled half a dozen cigarettes and placed them, one by one, beside the feast. One match from his thin supply he placed alongside the cigarettes. Then he looked very doubtful. No; one might blow out. He must not be niggardly. So he kept two for himself and gave three to the guest at his banquet.