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Presently Clarence caught up to him and bore him down a side street lest further attempts at apology should cause him to again accost the irate stranger. “Why not, I’d like to know? Isn’t this my shack? And shall I let a kid burn up?” Mr. Wopp, goaded to desperation, breathed audibly his opinion regarding pipe-fitting. Diogenes in one of his periodical excursions from his tub would have been glad to category that remark as an honest man’s attitude, at least toward certain jobs..
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Edith worked very hard. She called her operetta “The Triumph of Flora.” The words were her own, written hurriedly and set to familiar though classic airs. Yet many of the daintiest, most tripping melodies she wrote herself. The sorrows of humanity had winged her brain and dipped her pen in harmonies, that she might assuage them. The gentle words, the tender touch, the comfort and hope in her words, unlocked his lips and he told what he had thought to keep forever untold. “Doh, re, mi, fah, soh, la, ti, doh,” sang the children in faint uncertain tones. It occurred to Mrs. Wopp that the object in question might have been a new kind of singing bird, but “least said, soonest mended.” She would ask Moses if Clarence had ever mentioned it, the very first chance she had. None of the other ladies present assayed to join in the conversation, so perhaps most of them also were mystified. Airs. Wopp looked hard at Nell Gordon. Of course she knew what Mrs. Mifsud meant, but she seemed completely absorbed in turning a difficult corner in the quilt. A welcome interruption occurred..
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