He went out for some glue and three small
corks. Setting up his box stage, he glued a pill-box and a
match-box on the floor--the side of the box it had always been
till now--and there he had the mahogany desks. He thrust three
matches into the corks, and behold three graceful
actors--graceful for corks, at least. There was fascination in
having them enter, through holes punched in the back of the box,
frisk up to their desks and deliver magic emotional speeches
that would cause any audience to weep; speeches regarding which
he knew everything but the words; a detail of which he was still
quite ignorant after half an hour of playing with his marionettes.
Before he went despairingly to bed that Saturday night he had
added to his manuscript:
_Mr. Thorne_ says: Here are the papers, sir. As a great railway
president you should--
The rest of that was to be filled in later. How the dickens
could he let the public know how truly great his president was?
(_Daughter, Miss Nelly, comes in._)
_Miss Nelly:_ Father, I have come back to you, sir.
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