When the interval came at last—all too soon—Priscilla’s father squeezed along the seats and introduced himself to Mr. Dear, and Priscilla saw them talking very intently, and now and then they looked at her, and then her father beckoned to her to come, and she squeezed along too, and Mr. Dear and Miss Dear made room for her, and they all sat together for the rest of the performance, and Miss Dear offered a bag of sweets from time to time, with
O. W. DEAR,
Pastrycook and Confectioner,
printed on it. And all the time, no matter what was happening on the stage, Miss Dear was saying, “Well, there!” “Oh, dad, did you see that!” “Well I never!” And once, when Mr. Devant drew a rabbit out of a gentleman’s collar, she cried, “Oh, actuality!”
And then “God save the King” was played, and they all trooped out into Regent Street, and Miss Dear and Priscilla followed Mr. Dear and Priscilla’s father (who were talking about the Government) down to the shop. When the very little servant saw them all together her eyes grew twice as big as before. But her master told her to get them the key of the shop quickly, and while she was gone they all stood there in the narrow passage, surrounded by the smell of new bread. Then Mr. Dear unlocked the door into the shop, and lit the gas, and then he fetched a candle, and Priscilla showed them where she was standing when she bought the cakes, and her father and Mr. Dear went down on their hands and knees and groped about very carefully, moving only a very few inches at a time.
“What about this hole?” said Priscilla’s father at last.
“Yes,” said Mr. Dear, “it is rather a big one. Can you see anything shine?”
Priscilla’s father screwed his head down and twisted every way, while he held the candle so as to throw light into the blackness.
“No, I can’t,” he said. “But how about opening it up?”
“Lizzie,” said Mr. Dear to his daughter, “run and get a hammer.”
Miss Dear hurried off.