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“To-morrer’ll see my revenge,” growled Moses, now thoroughly roused to action under the protection of his own roof. Awakened to the fact of her son’s existence and perhaps as an antidote to her unusual display of sentiment, Mrs. Wopp spoke rather sharply. “Moses, time you an’ Betty was in bed. You won’t want to git up in the mornin’ an’ milk the cows.” Later left alone in the lower part of the house she stood arms akimbo in the middle of the kitchen gazing at the door through which Nell Gordon had just departed. Shaking her head she said mysteriously, “I kalkerlate as how things is a-settin’ in that way.” Then Moses commenced. He ran up and down a chromatic scale of puffs and groans and sniffles, ending with a cadence that sounded like, “Gosh dern!”.
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“Why, they know what you say—mind!” May Nell exclaimed, admiringly. In spite of her smile there was a tinge of gravity in her silent moment of consideration. “Very well, Billy. You know how short Saturday is, and that to-morrow you’ll wish you’d cut the grass to-day. Yet I leave it to you; do as you like.” “Well, papa did. If he was alive he’d be giving it to me about now, good and plenty.” “Say, fellows, business now, and no questions asked. There’s a hitch on the stage. Storm, wrap that cloak round you—don’t wait for fixings—and get to your place in the wings, quick! When I say ‘Go,’ take Rain’s hand, crouch low, run to the centre, and between you yank that snow tank off the stage. Sabe?”.
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