"That sounded fine!" The boys stared, then sniffed disdainfully, and cast derisive glances into each other's eyes--it appeared that this little sissy tramp boy did not even know enough to discover when he was being laughed at! "David! David! His name is David," they jeered into his face again.
"Come on, tune her up! We want ter dance." "Play?
Of course I'll play," cried David joyously, raising his violin and testing a string for its tone.
"Here, hold on," yelled the tallest boy.

"The Queen o' the Ballet ain't ready".

And he cautiously pulled from beneath his coat a struggling kitten with a perforated bag tied over its head.
"Sure! We want her in the middle," grinned the boy with the tin can.
"Hold on till I get her train tied to her," he finished, trying to capture the swishing, fluffy tail of the frightened little cat.
David had begun to play, but he stopped his music with a discordant stroke of the bow.
"What are you doing?
What is the matter with that cat ?" he demanded.
"'Matter'!" called a derisive voice.

"Sure, nothin' 's the matter with her.

She's the Queen o' the Ballet--she is!" "What do you mean ?" cried David.