McTeague: A Story of San Francisco. Frank Norris

began Owgooste fretfully, as soon as the yodlers had departed. He could not keep still an instant; he twisted from side to side, swinging his legs with incredible swiftness.

      “Ma-ah, I want to go ho-ome.”

      “Pehave!” exclaimed his mother, shaking him by the arm; “loog, der leedle girl is watchun you. Dis is der last dime I take you to der blay, you see.”

      “I don’t ca-are; I’m sleepy.” At length, to their great relief, he went to sleep, his head against his mother’s arm.

      The kinetoscope fairly took their breaths away.

      “What will they do next?” observed Trina, in amazement. “Ain’t that wonderful, Mac?”

      McTeague was awe-struck.

      “Look at that horse move his head,” he cried excitedly, quite carried away. “Look at that cable car coming—and the man going across the street. See, here comes a truck. Well, I never in all my life! What would Marcus say to this?”

      “It’s all a drick!” exclaimed Mrs. Sieppe, with sudden conviction. “I ain’t no fool; dot’s nothun but a drick.”

      “Well, of course, mamma,” exclaimed Trina, “it’s–”

      But Mrs. Sieppe put her head in the air.

      “I’m too old to be fooled,” she persisted. “It’s a drick.” Nothing more could be got out of her than this.

      The party stayed to the very end of the show, though the kinetoscope was the last number but one on the programme, and fully half the audience left immediately afterward. However, while the unfortunate Irish comedian went through his “act” to the backs of the departing people, Mrs. Sieppe woke Owgooste, very cross and sleepy, and began getting her “things together.” As soon as he was awake Owgooste began fidgeting again.

      “Save der brogramme, Trina,” whispered Mrs. Sieppe. “Take ut home to popper. Where is der hat of Owgooste? Haf you got mein handkerchief, Trina?”