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“Yet let him sleep downstairs,” Edith persisted. “Mudgie, Mudgie,” he shrieked. “At my brother’s Mrs. Wopp. He had just acquired it, so of course little proficiency was yet attained.”.

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But the moment of frolic passed, and he turned to her with shining face. “You’re the only mother I ever had—so far as I know—” his eyes danced; “anyway, you’re the only one in sight, an’ a heap too good for this guy; I guess—I’ll—I’ll mind.” “Moses!” called husband and wife, simultaneously. Mrs. Wopp’s voice spanned an interval of about a dozen semi-tones, and as it always grew in volume in direct ratio to the emergency of the duty to be imposed, the last syllable of her son’s name fell on that wretched boy’s ear like a clap of thunder. Mr. Wopp’s accents remained on nearly all occasions at the same even degree of meekness. Nature had not given him the temperament to indulge in crescendos or double fortes. “Where have you been, Billy Boy, Billy Boy? The inexorable portrait on the wall seemed to gaze down on the recalcitrant youth with disapproval..