“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.

“Ah,” said Trina, with a long breath, as she and McTeague pushed through the wicket, “here we are once more, Doctor.”  She had not appeared to notice McTeague’s embarrassment.  The difficulty had been tided over somehow.  Once more McTeague felt himself saved.

“To der beach!” shouted Mr. Sieppe.  They had checked their baskets at the peanut stand.  The whole party trooped down to the seashore.  The greyhound was turned loose.  The children raced on ahead.

From one of the larger parcels Mrs. Sieppe had drawn forth a small tin steamboat—­August’s birthday present—­a gaudy little toy which could be steamed up and navigated by means of an alcohol lamp.  Her trial trip was to be made this morning.

“Gi’ me it, gi’ me it,” shouted August, dancing around his father.

“Not soh, not soh,” cried Mr. 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.

“Stand back!” shouted his parent.  “You do not know so well as me; dere is dandger.  Mitout attention he will eggsplode.”

“I want to play with ut,” protested August, beginning to cry.

“Ach, soh; you cry, bube!” vociferated Mr. Sieppe.  “Mommer,” addressing Mrs. Sieppe, “he will soh soon be ge-whipt, eh?”

“I want my boa-wut,” screamed August, dancing.

“Silence!” roared Mr. Sieppe.  The little boat began to hiss and smoke.

“Soh,” observed the father, “he gommence.  Attention!  I put him in der water.”  He was very excited.  The perspiration dripped from the back of his neck.  The little boat was launched.  It hissed more furiously than ever.  Clouds of steam rolled from it, but it refused to move.

“You don’t know how she wo-rks,” sobbed August.

“I know more soh mudge as der grossest liddle fool as you,” cried Mr. Sieppe, fiercely, his face purple.

“You must give it sh—­shove!” exclaimed the boy.

“Den he eggsplode, idiot!” shouted his father.  All at once the boiler of the steamer blew up with a sharp crack.  The little tin toy turned over and sank out of sight before any one could interfere.

“Ah—­h!  Yah!  Yah!” yelled August.  “It’s go-one!”

Instantly Mr. Sieppe boxed his ears.  There was a lamentable scene.  August rent the air with his outcries; his father shook him till his boots danced on the jetty, shouting into his face: 

“Ach, idiot!  Ach, imbecile!  Ach, miserable!  I tol’ you he eggsplode.  Stop your cry.  Stop!  It is an order.  Do you wish I drow you in der water, eh?  Speak.  Silence, bube!  Mommer, where ist mein stick?  He will der grossest whippun ever of his life receive.”