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Betty had a conviction, though an unspoken one, that Moses was the primary cause of Job’s infirmity. The slowest of a large family of striped fluffy turkeys to emerge from the shell, he had been assisted in his efforts by the impatient Moses. Betty felt sure that the clumsy fingers of the boy had ruined the little turkey’s eye. The accusation, however, was too dreadful to be put into words. “My eye!” exclaimed Clarence, mockingly shading his eyes from his sister’s radiance, “She’s got her joy-bells on, what’s the stunt?” Billy stooped to tie shoestrings already tidy; he was gaining time for thinking. “I reckon doing things you don’t like is work, and doing things you do like is play,” he explained, doubtfully..
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Betty was trying to keep up the engaging flow of talk but the dance proved to require all her attention. The bottle went crash, and a furious yell informed the neighborhood that the Gang was “up to some new deviltry.” 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. “Bully fer you, ’s Gordon,” shouted the excited Moses leaping furiously. “Keep her goin’. Ole Dan Tucker jist fits that toon.”.
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