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He sat by the table in his dressing-room with angry storm-swept countenance. He had been capturing loud plaudits with his rag-time, until intoxicated with success, he swept into a tornado of music by Moskowski. The applause died away; two ladies in the front row began chatting. The enraged artist jumped from the piano-stool, and shouting “Pigs!” raced from the platform.,The Sun called to Flora, and she appeared by his side. In front of them knelt the Sower,crowned with leaves. The Sun bestowed upon him a cornucopia overflowing with cherries; Flora laid on his other arm long sprays of roses.,“Jevver see sich a useless boy? Been learnin’ spellin’s orl day, I ’xpect.”,“She may come with me, mother,” Edith said, pausing in the lesson with finger uplifted on the beat; “Billy mustn’t go into that bleak tank house.”,An enlarged crayon portrait in a wide gilt frame of Moses as a baby in a state of round cherubic innocent nudity, had been added recently to the mural decorations and was especially well covered with cloths.,“She’ll be all right. May Nell and me—I—we took our lunch and went over to Potter’s pasture. Shoot! She’s waiting now! I hope the poor little kiddie—little girl—eats, don’t wait for me,—she an’ Bouncer.”,“Sour’s licked me ’cause I’m a n-nigger, ’n gave T-Twinnies some f-flowers an’ walked with ’em. He’s back there now l-lickin’ the T-Twins.”,“Flash has cake, Sir Thomas cheese,” Edith explained, giving each his coveted bit. They took the morsels from her fingers, ate them delicately, and mewed once. “That’s ‘Thank you,’” Edith interpreted.,Mr. Crump indulged in an unusual hobby, the collection of old musical instruments, and a motley group it was that Moses eyed with growing wonder.,A low rumble of thunder was heard in the distance and a flash of lightning made the coal-oil lamp look like a bilious spot in the room.,“Oh go on Betty, a daddy-long-legs’d die of starvin’ on what you eat.”,“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..