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“She can’t, you know; she and sister have to work hard to make what we spend now. I don’t do half enough myself.” “But I don’t like them to do that, Billy. They ought to stay dead till the play is done. When I see them smiling I feel as if—just as I would if you made fun of me when I cried for my mama,—it takes all the true out of the play.” When the program was over Moses noticed enviously that Betty was so close to the orchestra that her ear was almost in the trombone..
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Betty was thoroughly engrossed in her subject. Her story was entirely of birds and flowers and fairies. True, the pictures did not realize in their movements the lightning-like rapidity of “really truly” moving pictures, but they moved as fast as the young eyes that followed them could wish. “Three you should say. Don’t you live in the dreamland of music? Eat your own breakfast, or you’ll be late for the train.” In the meantime Mr. Wopp sitting precariously on the edge of the sofa was examining for at least the two-hundredth time the red plush album which contained the records of the Wopp family, past and present, in picture form. He looked long and earnestly at a tin-type representing a plump, velvet-coated, mop-haired boy of twelve. He sighed deeply. “Yes, I seen them an’ smelt them, too; they shore ’d delight the heart of an Eskermo, Betty.”.
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