The glass of the show-case was etched
with a sinister gray line.
"_Now_ look what you've done!" exclaimed Peggy, with the natural
irritation of disaster. "Oh, my!" squeaked the shabby little boy, "won't
you catch it!" Peggy's anger was swallowed up in fright and sympathy;
she pushed Johnny-Ivan ahead of her. "That Miss Hopkins is looking,"
cried she, "get behind these folks down the aisle!"
She propelled the little boy out of the immediate neighborhood of the
calamity; she forced a wicked, deceitful smile (alas! guile comes easy
to her sex) and pointed out things to him, whispering, "Look pleasant!
Don't be so scared! They'll never know we did it." Already she was
shouldering her share in crime, with a woman's willingness; she said
"we" quite unconsciously; but she added (and this was of direct
volition): "I did it more'n you; you were just trying to keep the nasty
thing straight; I was a heap more to blame. Anyhow, I guess it ain't so
awful bad. Just those wooden things."
Johnny-Ivan shook a tragic head; even his lips had gone bluish-white.
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