too bad he had such an M--

PETER. An M--?

MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. [_In pantomime--mouthing the word so that_ WILLIAM
_cannot hear_.] Mother ... Annamarie.

PETER. Oh! ...

MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. She ought to have told you or Mr. Batholommey who the
F-- was.

PETER. F--?

MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. [_In pantomime--as before_.] Father.

PETER. Oh... [_Spelling out the word_.] S-c-o-u-n-d-r-e-l--whoever he is!
[_Calls_.] William. [WILLIAM _looks up from his book_.] You're very
contented here with me, are you not?

WILLIAM. Yes, sir.

PETER. And you want to stay here?

WILLIAM. Yes, sir. [_At that moment, a country circus band--playing a
typical parade march--blares out as it comes up some distant street_.]
There's a circus in town.

PETER. A circus?