“It’s awfully well made, though; and that bit of lace is good, you can see.”
“So it ought to be. They’ve plenty of money—must have, or her dad couldn’t have sent her to a swell school.”
The conversation, to which “Queen of my Heart” had made an excellent accompaniment, was broken off by the inevitable high note with which all of Carrie’s songs ended.
“Thank you, dear!” both girls exclaimed, in haste and simultaneously. “We have enjoyed it so.”
“Carrie, my girl, let’s have something to eat,” shouted Mr. Jenkins, who had persistently aimed cards at the hat throughout the song, accompanied by loud exclamations at intervals of “Got ’im!” “Boss shot!” “Try another!”
“Here, you young folks! Can’t enjoy yourselves on an empty stomach, you know. All nonsense.”
“Pa!” exclaimed Carrie, with annoyance. “How stupid you are!”
“Stupid, my dear, I may be; faint, I am. When’s supper, mother? Oh my! look at ’em frowning! Said something I oughtn’t to, ’ave I? Can’t help it. Food’s the main thing in life, eh? What do you say, all of you?”
Mr. Jenkins trotted about with a plate of ginger-nuts in one hand, and one of quartered apples in the other, talking cheerfully to the company at large.
“Now, young men, make yourselves useful. Wait on the ladies.”