and Nan breathed easier when she saw confidence growing in the pathetic humorist upon the stage.
His efforts were something to be endured, not enjoyed, by a person with a vestige of culture or taste, and she turned her head ever so slightly to note the effect upon Ben Evans. She experienced a kind of shock to see that he was following the crude humor and dreadful puns with the keenest enjoyment and she felt a vehement disgust, a secret shame for him when she observed that he evidenced his approbation by kicking his heels against the mop-board. Imagine—well. Bob, for instance, kicking his heels against the mop-board! Nan turned her head from him abruptly. Her interest in him and the care with which she had dressed for the absurd entertainment suddenly made her seem ridiculous to herself.
Whatever hopes the reception of the monologue had raised as to the friendliness of the audience was quickly dispelled by its reception of the young girl's vocal solo.
It was bad, indescribably bad, but made worse by fright as she stood before the jeering crowd holding a sheet of music between
