Sieppe put her head in the air.
"I'm too old to be fooled," she persisted. "It's a drick." Nothing more
could be got out of her than this.
The party stayed to the very end of the show, though the kinetoscope was
the last number but one on the programme, and fully half the audience
left immediately afterward. However, while the unfortunate Irish
comedian went through his "act" to the backs of the departing people,
Mrs. Sieppe woke Owgooste, very cross and sleepy, and began getting
her "things together." As soon as he was awake Owgooste began fidgeting
again.
"Save der brogramme, Trina," whispered Mrs. Sieppe. "Take ut home to
popper. Where is der hat of Owgooste? Haf you got mein handkerchief,
Trina?"
But at this moment a dreadful accident happened to Owgooste; his
distress reached its climax; his fortitude collapsed. What a misery!
It was a veritable catastrophe, deplorable, lamentable, a thing beyond
words! For a moment he gazed wildly about him, helpless and petrified
with astonishment and terror. Then his grief found utterance, and the
closing strains of the orchestra were mingled with a prolonged wail of
infinite sadness.
"Owgooste, what is ut?" cried his mother eyeing him with dawning
suspicion; then suddenly, "What haf you done? You haf ruin your new
Vauntleroy gostume!" Her face blazed; without more ado she smacked him
soundly.
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