Part 3 (1/2)

Clarence was all sniffles, and rubbed at the injured arm. But Ikey had no mind to be blamed undeservedly. He squared about upon Sue with flas.h.i.+ng eye. ”But, Momsey, he _did_ said it!” he repeated.

Sue tightened her grip on his ca.s.sock. ”And, oh, my soul, such grammar!”

she mourned. ”'He did said it!' You mean, He do said--he do say--he done--oh, now you've got _me_ twisted!”

”Just de same, he called it to me,” a.s.serted Ikey.

”I never, I tell you! I never!”

”Ah! Ah!” Once more Sue struggled to hold them apart. ”And what, Mr.

Ikey, did he call you?”

”He calls me,” cried the insulted Ikey, ”--he calls me a pie-faces!--Ach!”

”And what did you call him?”

”I didn't call him not'ing!” answered Ikey, beginning to wail again at the very thought of his failure to do himself justice; ”not--von--t'ing!”

”But”--with a wisdom born of long choir experience--”you must have said something.”

”All I says,” chanted Ikey, ”--all I says is, 'You can't sing. What you do is----'” And lowering and raising his head, he emitted a long, lifelike bray.

”Yah!” burst forth the enraged Clarence, struggling to clutch his hated fellow.

”Wa-a-a-ah!” wept Ikey, who had struck out and hurt his already injured digit. ”You donkey!--donkey!”

Breathing hard, Sue managed to keep them apart; to bring them back to their proper distance. ”Look at them!” she said with fine sarcasm. ”Oh, look at Ikey Einstein!--Where's your handkerchief?”

Weeping, he indicated it by a duck of the chin.

At such a point of general melting, it was safe to release combatants.

Sue freed the two, and took from Ikey's pocket a square of cotton once white, but now characteristically gray, and strangely heavy. ”Here, put up that poor face,” she comforted. But at this unpropitious moment, the handkerchief, clear of the pocket, sagged with its holdings and deposited upon the carpet several yellowish, black-spotted cubes. ”Dice!”

exclaimed Sue, horrified. ”Dice!--Ikey Einstein, what do you call yourself!”

Pride stopped Ikey's tears. He thrust out his underlip and waved a hand at the scattered cubes. ”Momsey,” he answered stoutly, ”don't you know?

Why, ever since day before yesterdays, I am a t'ree-card-monte man!”

”You're a three-card-what?”

Unable longer to restrain their mirth, that portion of the choir that was in the bay-window now whooped with delight. And Sue, turning, beheld ten figures writhing with joy.

”So!” she began severely. The ten sobered, and their cottas billowed in a backward step. ”So here you are!--where you have no business to be!”

Bobbie, the spokesman, ventured to the rescue of his mates. ”But, Momsey----”

”Now! No excuses! You all know that you do not come into this drawing-room, to track up the carpet--look at your feet! And to pull things about, like a lot of red Indians! And finger-print the mahogany!

And, oh, how disappointed I am in you! To disobey!”

”But the minister----” piped up the tow-headed boy.

”That's right!” she retorted sarcastically. ”Blame it on Mr. Farvel! As if you don't know the regulations!”