New York (N.Y.) -- History -- 1775-1865 -- Fiction
People were crowding in, it was such a beautiful day, and this was
considered the place preeminently for children. People who would have
been horrified at the thought of a theatre did not have a scruple about
the lecture-room.
"We better not stop to look at things," advised Delia. "We can do that
afterward. Let's go in and get our seats."
They had to go way up front, but they didn't mind that so long as they
were all together. They studied the wonderful Venetian scene on the
drop-curtain, and the young lad in a supposedly green satin costume,
with a long white feather in his hat, who was just stepping into a
gondola where a very lovely lady was playing on a guitar. Then the
orchestra gave a clash of drums, cymbals, French horns, and a big bass
viol, and up went the curtain.
A musical family came out and sang. Then there were some acrobatic
performances. After that the pantomime.
Grandpapa Jerome, in a very foreign costume and a bald head which he
tried to keep covered with a black velvet cap, had two extremely tricksy
sprites for grandchildren. They were very pretty, the girl with long,
light curls, the boy with dark ones. But of all mischief, of all
tormenting deeds and antics with which they nearly set grandpapa crazy
and threw the audience into convulsions! They took the nice fat boiled
ham off the table and greased the doorstep so thoroughly you would have
thought every bone in the old man's body would have been broken by the
repeated falls. They cut the seat out of the chair, and when he went to
sit down he doubled up equal to any modern folding-bed, and he kicked
and turned summersaults until the maid came out and rescued him. Then he
spied the author of the mischief asleep on a grassy bank, and he found a
big strap and went creeping up cautiously, when--whack! and the little
boy flew all to pieces, and the old man was so amazed at his cruelty
that he sat down and began to weep and bewail when the little lad peeped
from behind a tree and, seeing poor grandfather's grief, ran out, hugged
him and kissed him and wiped his eyes, and you could see he was
promising never to do anything naughty again. But that didn't hinder him
from cutting out the bottom of the basket into which the old man was
cutting some very splendid grapes. There were not more than half a dozen
bunches, and the children ran away with them. The old man descended so
carefully, put his hand in the basket, his whole arm, and not a grape.
There was none on the ground. Where had they gone! Oh, there was the
cat. But pussy was much spryer than the old man, and the audience knew
she had not touched a grape.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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