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Vigorously cleaning up the still bewildered victim, Mrs. Wopp hurled fresh orders. The disgusted artist got up and with a huge hand wiped his handkerchief across his perspiring brow. He was short and very thick set, with prominent forehead, bulging black eyes, coarse nose, thick red lips. “Yes, right now.” He stepped nearer, and Bouncer growled and bristled..

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It had been Mrs. Wopp’s aim, to have the names for all the members of the household sanctified by biblical authority. She claimed to have had unnumbered admirers in her youth and had singled out her husband for his scriptural appellation. A store of names had been secretly acquired for use in the event of her marriage, but as in the course of years only one boy had come to add freckles and rotundity to the family circle, she was thankful that she had used at least three of the collection on the fortunate youth. Moses Habakuk Ezra Wopp, the exact counterpart of his mother, sat next to his father and eyed the plate of Betty, who was seated beside him, mentally calculating the amount of each succulent morsel she consumed. Since he was twice her size, he was entitled, he thought, to at least twice her share. On his own plate a lonely pickled onion floated in gravy. “But some people like their work, don’t they?” May Nell persisted. She was exploring strange country. “Oh, no; there aren’t any. Billy says so, and he knows. He knows, too, that there are other people here beside the Italians.” “Naw Nosey,” he retorted, “there ain’t no bun to break in two, the dorg is outside the bun already.”.