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Updated: May 15, 2025
Sieppe, bearing it aloft. "I must first der eggsperimunt make." "No, no!" wailed August. "I want to play with ut." "Obey!" thundered Mr. Sieppe. August subsided. A little jetty ran part of the way into the water. Here, after a careful study of the directions printed on the cover of the box, Mr. Sieppe began to fire the little boat. "I want to put ut in the wa-ater," cried August.
The two systems of operation often clashed and tangled. Mrs. Sieppe was found by her harassed husband helping Trina with the waist of her gown when she should have been slicing cold chicken in the kitchen. Mr.
Sieppe wiped her forehead with her napkin. "Hey, dere, poy, gif me some more oaf dat what you call 'bubble-water." That was how the waiter had spoken of the champagne "bubble-water." The guests had shouted applause, "Outa sight." He was a heavy josher was that waiter. Bottle after bottle was opened, the women stopping their ears as the corks were drawn.
Sieppe argued they could get no decent supper if they went back to the city at that hour; that they could catch an early morning boat and reach their business in good time. The two friends accepted. The Sieppes lived in a little box of a house at the foot of B Street, the first house to the right as one went up from the station.
Destiny was against him. "I only got a quarter," he stammered. He was on the point of adding that he would not go in the park. That seemed to be the only alternative. "Oh, all right!" said Marcus, easily. "I'll pay for you, and you can square with me when we go home." They filed into the park, Mr. Sieppe counting them off as they entered.
They were grouped about four lunch baskets. One of the children, a little boy, held a black greyhound by a rope around its neck. Trina wore a blue cloth skirt, a striped shirt waist, and a white sailor; about her round waist was a belt of imitation alligator skin. At once Mrs. Sieppe began to talk to Marcus.
Sieppe had even been obliged to put a mortgage upon their house. Mrs. Sieppe didn't know what was to become of them all. Her husband had even begun to talk of emigrating to New Zealand. Meanwhile, she informed Trina that Mr. Sieppe had finally come across a man with whom Marcus could "go in with on a ranch," a cattle ranch in the southeastern portion of the State.
There was an incessant going and coming at every moment of the day, a great calling up and down stairs, a shouting from room to room, an opening and shutting of doors, and an intermittent sound of hammering from the laundry, where Mr. Sieppe in his shirt sleeves labored among the packing-boxes. The twins clattered about on the carpetless floors of the denuded rooms.
"I don't know." "You don' know, you don' know? Where haf your sensus gone, Trina? You kiss der doktor. You cry, and you don' know. Is ut Marcus den?" "No, it's not Cousin Mark." "Den ut must be der doktor." Trina made no answer. "Eh?" "I I guess so." "You loaf him?" "I don't know." Mrs. Sieppe set down the mousetrap with such violence that it sprung with a sharp snap. No, Trina did not know.
She was crying; her handkerchief was rolled into a wad. From time to time she looked at the train of Trina's dress through her tears. Mr. Sieppe marched his daughter to the exact middle of the floor, wheeled at right angles, and brought her up to the minister. He stepped back three paces, and stood planted upon one of his chalk marks, his face glistening with perspiration.
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