“I put it in the ashcan, Chuck, just like you said,” Michael offered timidly. “I think it blew the top off.”
The ashcan was a crumpled mass of tin. The top had been blown across the stair well and ashes were strewn about, several inches deep.
“I guess you didn’t look in the can first,” Chuck said very quietly, his eyes still smarting.
“I didn’t know it would make so much smoke—” Michael whispered.
“No, I guess you didn’t,” Chuck agreed softly.
“I was very careful, but I guess maybe I should have just used a firecracker.” Michael sat down sorrowfully on the stairs, looking like a lump of coal in a bin.
Peggy couldn’t restrain herself any longer. She burst out laughing. “Oh, Michael,” she gasped, “and you worked so hard! It couldn’t have been funnier if you’d tried!”
Nobody could control himself any longer, and they all laughed until their sides hurt. The play ended without another mishap and the audience left, still talking about the “bomb.”
“Your place in folklore is assured, Michael,” his father told him dryly. “But next time I suggest you take a simple little walk to the store!”
The week flew by so quickly that Peggy didn’t know where the time had gone. They were rehearsing the melodrama, Love Rides the Rails, and during the day Randy would come to the theater to watch and cue the actors.