"I know that Beansy Brannigan," he said. "How is that gang behaving?"
"Oh, pretty well. But ten Indians at fifty cents an Indian is five dollars, and we c-can't afford it."
She was tearful again.
"Already the costumes have cost four hundred dollars and more. We'll be lucky to make expenses if the Gulicks keep on putting in expensive scenes," she moaned.
She busied herself with the angel's wing, then paused to ask, "Ambrose, have you learned your historical epilogue?"
For answer he sprang to his feet, wrapped his cheese-cloth toga about him, struck a Ciceronian attitude, and said loudly:
"Who am I, oh list'ning peoples?
His'try's spirit, stern and truthful!
Come I here to tell you fully,
Of our Granville's thrilling story,
How Saul and other noble Gulicks,
And a few who shall be nameless,
Hewed a city from the forests,
Blazed the way for civ'lization."
"Stop," cried Mrs. Pottle. "I can't bear to hear another word about those Gulicks. You know it well enough."
"There are a few things I wish I could have put in," remarked Mr. Pottle, wistfully.
His tone made her look up with quick interest.