She went straight at her subject.  They all knew what they were there for, she told them, and her audience looked her unwinkingly in the eye.  They did not know what they were there for, but they felt that they were prepared for the worst.  Cal Emmett went mentally over the only “piece” he knew, which he thought he might be called upon to speak.  It was the one beginning, according to Cal’s version: 

  Twinkle, Twinkle little star,
  What in thunder are you at?

There were thirteen verses, and it was not particularly adapted to a Christmas entertainment.

The schoolma’am went on explaining.  There would be tableaux, she said (whereat Happy Jack came near swallowing his tongue) and the Jarley Wax-works.

“What’re them?” Slim, leaning awkwardly forward and blinking up at her, interrupted stolidly.  Everyone took advantage of the break and breathed deeply.

The schoolma’am told them what were the Jarley Wax-works, and even reverted to Dickens and gave a vivid sketch of the original Mrs. Jarley.  The audience finally understood that they would represent wax figures of noted characters, would stand still and let Mrs. Jarley talk about them—­without the satisfaction of talking back—­and that they would be wound up at the psychological moment, when they would be expected to go through a certain set of motions alleged to portray the last conscious acts of the characters they represented.

The schoolma’am sat down sidewise upon a desk, swung a neat little foot unconventionally and grew confidential, and the Happy Family knew they were in for it.

“Will Davidson” (which was Weary) “is the tallest fellow in the lot, so he must be the Japanese Dwarf and eat poisoned rice out of a chopping bowl, with a wooden spoon—­the biggest we can find,” she announced authoritatively, and they grinned at Weary.

“Mr. Bennett,” (which was Chip) “you can assume a most murderous expression, so we’ll allow you to be Captain Kidd and threaten to slay your Little Doctor with a wooden sword—­if we can’t get hold of a real one.”

“Thanks,” said Chip, with doubtful gratitude.

“Mr. Emmett, we’ll ask you to be Mrs. Jarley and deliver the lectures.”

When they heard that the Happy Family howled derision at Cal, who got red in the face in spite of himself.  The worst was over.  The victims scented fun in the thing and perked up, and the schoolma’am breathed relief, for she knew the crowd.  Things would go with a swing, after this, and success was, barring accidents, a foregone conclusion.

Through all the clatter and cross-fire of jibes Happy Jack sat, nervous and distrait, in the seat nearest the door and farthest from Annie Pilgreen.  The pot-bellied stove yawned red-mouthed at him, a scant three feet away.  Someone coming in chilled with the nipping night air had shoveled in coal with lavish hand, so that the stove door had to be thrown open as the readiest method of keeping the stove from melting where it stood.  Its body, swelling out corpulently below the iron belt, glowed red; and Happy Jack’s wolf-skin overcoat was beginning to exhale a rank, animal odor.  It never occurred to him that he might change his seat; he unbuttoned the coat absently and perspired.