The “spirit of Little Eva” was ascending.
But such a spirit!
The hook of the tackle was attached to the seat of the Dutch lad’s trousers, so that he was held limply “amidships,” while his flowing robes had fallen away in such a manner that his clothing was exposed beneath.
Probably never before in the history of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” on the stage had such a “spirit” ascended before the eyes of a staring, astounded audience.
“Hell-up!” howled Hans, kicking and squawking, as he sailed toward the flies. “Come und safe me pefore you vos a deat man!”
Then there was a hitch, for the windlass refused to work, and there the struggling Dutch lad hung in full view of the now laughing spectators.
Missiles began to whizz through the air.
Spat!—a stale egg struck Hans behind the ear.
Whizz—plunk!
A small cabbage sent him spinning round and round like a top.