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Betty, not interested in intricate relationships, tiptoed into the parlor and uncovering the organ, played with one finger “Home Sweet Home.” The wool-embroidered motto on the wall almost wept. 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. “Jeth could whip your ole mongrel; but I don’t warnt him bit up,” called Moses over his shoulder as he walked away. To this taunt Clarence replied only with a hideous grimace..
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Conrad
Mrs. Wopp was overcome with laughter at the bare memory of the picture her irate husband had presented. “Never mind, son; we expected to take some one.” “Hurry up, Buzz!” Billy called as he raced by from the shop, where he had been for the oil can to fill the boat’s reservoir. The last act exhausted the possibilities of the theatre in light effects and sylvan scenery; and the curtain rose on a gorgeous scene. But oh, horror! In the middle of the stage the scene-shifters had left the ugly truck that moved Storm King’s reservoir of ice and snow. When used in previous acts, bed and wheels had been hidden by moss, the tank had been covered by his mantle, and the entire mechanism, moving as he moved, had seemed a part of himself. Now its secret was disclosed and it was ridiculous..
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