“Well, fix it,” commanded the disturbed author. “If any of the fellers should see that they’d think we didn’t know nothin’ at all. Put it w-e-double l-k-o-m.”
Johnny started to obey him, thinking with delight that he had been almost right before, and Mopsey continued:
“When we built this place I said I’d fix up a play myself, so’s we’d be sure to have everythin’ all right; but business has been so good, an’ I had so much trouble with my pea-nut roaster—for I broke it twice, an’ had to hire one offer the Italian that keeps across the street—that I thought we’d play somethin’ the boys all knew, an’ we’d kinder lay over anythin’ they’d ever seen at the same time. So I thought we’d play the whole of Shakespeare, an’ that would give everybody a fair show.”
There was a look of disappointment on the faces of his hearers as he said this, and noticing it, he added, quickly,
“You see we couldn’t get up a whole play new, an’ give all hands a chance to do fightin’; an’ then, agin, Dickey wouldn’t have a shield an’ a sword any other way than this.”
This last argument changed the look on Dickey’s face at once, and he was perfectly satisfied with any arrangement now, for he knew that his ambition was to be realized. The others were very careful to show no signs of approval until they were satisfied that they had been treated as well as Dickey.
“Of course,” continued Mopsey, as he looked around at his audience much as if he expected to hear some of them say that he couldn’t write a play, “the first thing we had to have was a programme, an’ I’ve made one out, so’s you’ll know jest what you’ve got to do.”
Here Mopsey unfolded the paper he had carried in his hand, and displayed a bill of the play. It is unnecessary to say that this piece of literary work had cost the author a very great effort. Doubts as to the spelling arose at every turn, but the final result was as follows: