"
"We say nothing," replied the disputatious Overtop. "We only wait for
proof. It is easy to find out whether a signal is meant or not. Rub the
window now."
Maltboy did so, concluding the act with an unmistakable flourish of the
handkerchief. Whereupon the tall girl averted her face, pulled down the
curtain, and eclipsed herself.
Wilkeson and Overtop laughed, and, with a common impulse, punched
Maltboy triumphantly in the ribs--a friendly salute that was always
vastly amusing to that gentleman.
"Be it understood, at this stage of affairs," said Marcus, solemnly,
"that I reject the Overtop theory, and wash my hands of all
responsibility for Maltboy's misdeeds.--Hallo! There he is again."
"Who? Where?" exclaimed his two friends.
"In the house nearly opposite--the one with the grape arbor. Isn't he a
fine old fellow?"
Overtop and Maltboy looked, and there saw, sitting at a window, and
placidly gazing out of it, an old gentleman with long and thick white
hair, a ruddy face, a white neckcloth, and a large projecting shirt
frill--which were all the peculiarities of person and dress that could
be distinctly made out.
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