Then he laid his noble head on the saw horse, and bing! went the window frame down on his neck.
“Gosh!” yelled Carton, just as it struck; and then no more.
“Good Lord! Tommy!” cried his mother excitedly from the audience. “I think she’s killed him.”
“He’s all right,” cried Isabelle from the gallery. “There wasn’t any knife in it—it couldn’t hurt him much, unless it just broke his neck.”
Carton sat up and lifted a red and angry face toward her.
“It just about did break my neck, you big nut!” he cried, feeling himself, gently. “I told you that darned thing wouldn’t work.”
“Draw the curtain,” hissed Isabelle fiercely, sensing that the shouts of the audience were too abandoned to be complimentary.
The curtains were hitched shut, and she looked over the balustrade on to the group below. Wally was beating Christiansen on the back, and Max was laughing hysterically. Mrs. Page, whose stupid maternal plans had nearly ruined the climax, was now panting for breath.
Isabelle, even while she was delighted with their applause, despised them. Had they no feeling for the noble tragedy of Carton? Of course, Tommy Page, the fool——just then she caught Martin Christiansen’s eye. He held up his hands to her, clapping, and bowing and throwing kisses. He rushed to the garden, and came back with a huge sunflower which he tossed to her, calling: “Author!”