When the captain, posing for Liberty enlightening the Upper Bay, uttered those generous words, Mickey brought his dirty little palms together with a smack that led the gallery. A whirlwind of applause beat upon the curtain, and—when the curtain rose again—upon the actors bowing before the storm. Mickey's shrill pipe of happiness topped it all. When the uproar dwindled down to an excited interchange of appreciations, his treble kept the key-note. "Gee! Was n't it great? 'D yuh see 'm grab d' ol' guy be dhe pipe? Say, wy didn't he lift dhe box, 'stead o' monkeyin' roun' dhere till dhey got in on 'em, eh? Gee, dhough, was n't it great?"
His father had been watching Mickey rather than the play; but he simulated a smiling interest and answered: "Sure! That was somethin' like, eh?"
A boy of Mickey's acquaintance—the son of Schurz, the butcher—leaned in from the aisle to say: "Yer mother 's out huntin' fer yuh, Mickey. You 'll get it!" And Mickey's face fell half-way to an expression of unhappiness before it lifted to upper glee again. He turned to his father, full of the self-sacrifice of the robber captain's climax. "Dhat 's all right," he cheered his parent. "If she finds out 't you was here, I 'll tell her I took yuh."
"She won't find out nothin'! Never mind her. Havin' a good time?"
Mickey chortled. "Say! D' yuh guess dhe cap'n 's goin' to confest?"
They discussed the question, sharing the candies,
