her "things together." As soon as he was awake Owgooste began fidgeting
again.

"Save der brogramme, Trina," whispered Mrs. Sieppe. "Take ut home to
popper. Where is der hat of Owgooste? Haf you got mein handkerchief,
Trina?"

But at this moment a dreadful accident happened to Owgooste; his
distress reached its climax; his fortitude collapsed. What a misery!
It was a veritable catastrophe, deplorable, lamentable, a thing beyond
words! For a moment he gazed wildly about him, helpless and petrified
with astonishment and terror. Then his grief found utterance, and the
closing strains of the orchestra were mingled with a prolonged wail of
infinite sadness.

"Owgooste, what is ut?" cried his mother eyeing him with dawning
suspicion; then suddenly, "What haf you done? You haf ruin your new
Vauntleroy gostume!" Her face blazed; without more ado she smacked him
soundly. Then it was that Owgooste touched the limit of his misery,
his unhappiness, his horrible discomfort; his utter wretchedness was
complete. He filled the air with his doleful outcries. The more he was
smacked and shaken, the louder he wept.

"What--what is the matter?" inquired McTeague.

Trina's face was scarlet. "Nothing, nothing," she exclaimed hastily,
looking away. "Come, we must be going. It's about over." The end of the
show and the breaking up of the audience tided over the embarrassment of
the moment.