eeble originality, ran:

"Oh, how happy I will be,
When my darling's face I'll see;
Oh, tell him for to meet me in the moonlight,
Down where the golden lilies bloom."

The orchestra played the tune of this chorus a second time, with certain
variations, while the girl danced to it. She sidled to one side of the
stage and kicked, then sidled to the other and kicked again. As she
finished with the song, a man, evidently the lodger in question, came
in. Instantly McTeague exploded in a roar of laughter. The man
was intoxicated, his hat was knocked in, one end of his collar was
unfastened and stuck up into his face, his watch-chain dangled from
his pocket, and a yellow satin slipper was tied to a button-hole of his
vest; his nose was vermilion, one eye was black and blue. After a short
dialogue with the girl, a third actor appeared. He was dressed like a
little boy, the girl's younger brother. He wore an immense turned-down
collar, and was continually doing hand-springs and wonderful back
somersaults. The "act" devolved upon these three people; the lodger
making love to the girl in the short blue dress, the boy playing all
manner of tricks upon him, giving him tremendous digs in the ribs or
slaps upon the back that made him cough, pulling chairs from under him,
running on all fours between his legs and upsetting him, knocking him
over at inopportune moments. Every one of his falls was accentuated by a
bang upon the bass drum. The whole humor of the "act" seemed to consist
in the tripping up of the intoxicated lodger.

This horse-play delighted McTeague beyond measure. He roared and shouted
every time the lodger went down, slapping his knee, wagging his head.
Owgooste crowed shrilly, clapping his hands and continually
asking, "What did he say, ma? What did he say?" Mrs. Sieppe laughed
immoderately, her huge fat body shaking like a mountain of jelly. She
exclaimed from time to time, "Ach, Gott, dot fool!" Even Trina was
moved, laughing demurely, her lips closed, putting one hand with its new
glove to her mouth.

The performance went on. Now it was the "musical marvels," two men
extravagantly made up as negro minstrels, with immense shoes and
plaid vests. They seemed to be able to wrestle a tune out of almost
anything--glass bottles, cigar-box fiddles, strings of sleigh-bells,
even graduated brass tubes, which they rubbed with resined fingers.
McTeague was stupefied with admiration.

"That's what you