In one corner of the hall, a row of badly nourished colored children from the district just north of the "Jefferson Toughs," forgot the family struggle for three meals a day and rent money in their present bliss, grins appeared on the faces of the adults in the hall, and the rest of the audience swayed and shouted and giggled as Punch made away with first the baby, then friend wife, the policeman, the clown, and the judge, and hung their bodies over the edge of the stage in time-honored fashion.
A prolonged groan came from the depths of the cabinet.
"It's the devil," said John, squirming ecstatically on his hard chair. "There he is, in one corner where Punch can't see him."
Punch lifted a victim from one side of the stage to the other.
"That's one," he counted.
The red-faced, lively little imp returned the corpse to its original resting place. Some minutes of this comedy followed.
"Twenty-six," squawked the unsuspecting Punch in surprise, while the audience roared appreciatively. "Did I kill so many? Hello, who are you?"
"I," came the preternaturally deep voice as Louise quaked at the make-belief reality of the scene, "am the devil!"
"Now they'll fight," breathed John, watching intently. "It'll be the bulliest fight of all, and they'll throw each other down and hit each other over the head forty-'leven times. Then the devil'll win."