“Didn’t you like the show?” he asked.

“You bet!” said Billy, his eyes shining and his cheeks flushed.

Mrs. Wiggs was hopelessly entangled in the crepe veil, but her ideas of etiquette were rigid.  She disengaged one hand and said, with dignity:  “I ’low this is Mr. Bob, Billy’s friend.  Happy to meet yer acquaintance.  Asia, speak to the gentleman—­Australia—­ Europena!” with a commanding nod at each.

Three small hands were thrust at Redding simultaneously, and he accommodated them all in his broad palm.

“But why are you going home?” he asked, looking from one to the other.

“Where else would we go to?” asked Mrs. Wiggs, in amazement.

“Why not stay and see the play out?  That was only the first act.”

“Is there some more, ma?” asked Asia, eagerly.

“Why, of course,” explained Redding, “lots more.  Now, go back, and stay until everybody has left the theater, and then you will be certain it’s over.”

So back they went, furnishing an amusing entr’acte for the impatient audience.

After the curtain descended on the final tableau, Redding waited in the lobby while the stream of people passed.  The Wiggses had obeyed instructions, and were the very last to come out.  They seemed dazed by their recent glimpse into fairy-land.  Something in their thin bodies and pinched faces made Redding form a sudden resolve.

“Billy,” he said gravely, “can’t you and your family take supper with me?”

Billy and his mother exchanged doubtful glances; for the past three hours everything had been so strange and unusual that they were bewildered.

“You see, we will go right over to Bond’s and have something to eat before you go home,” urged Redding.

Mrs. Wiggs was in great doubt, but one of the little girls pulled her skirt and said, in pleading tones:  “Ma, let’s do!” and Billy was already casting longing eyes at the big restaurant across the way.  She had not the heart to refuse.  As they were crossing the street, Asia stopped suddenly and cried: 

“Ma, there’s the ‘Christmas Lady’ gittin’ in that hack!  She seen us!  Look!”

But before they could turn the carriage door had slammed.

Redding took them into a small apartment, curtained off from the rest of the cafe, so that only the waiters commented on the strange party.  At first there was oppressive silence; then the host turned to Europena and asked her what she liked best to eat.  A moment of torture ensued for the small lady, during which she nearly twisted her thumb from its socket, then she managed to gasp: 

“Green pups!”

Mr. Bob laughed.  “Why, you little cannibal!” he said.  “What on earth does she mean?”

“Cream puffs,” explained Mrs. Wiggs, airily.  “She et ’em onct at Mrs. Reed’s, the Bourbon Stock Yard’s wife, an’ she’s been talkin’ ’bout ’em ever sence.”