“Oh, good land, Ikey, do look!” quavered Mrs. Armstrong; “there’s pa’s boss, and the Martins that used to live in the same block with us, and Mrs. O’Toole, and all the neighbors most up to the East End, and—oh, Ikey! there’s Miss Pauline herself! Our friends ’ain’t deserted us; I knew perfectly well they wouldn’t!”
Ike did look up then—he stood up. His eyes met the eyes of his sweetheart, and he sat down with his cheeks afire and his head in the air.
“In the first place,” said Wickliff, assuming an easy attitude, with one hand in a pocket and the other free for oratorical display, “I’ll call Miss Beaumont, Miss Henriette Beaumont, for the defence.” Miss Beaumont responded to the call, and turned a defiant stare on the amateur attorney.
“You say you were disturbed by the Armstrongs’ organ?”
“I was painfully disturbed.”
“Naturally you informed your neighbors, and asked them to desist playing the organ?”
“I did.”
“How many times?”
“Once.”