Chapter 6: A Theater Party

“The play, the play’s the thing!”
BILLY’S foreign policy proved most satisfactory, and after the annexation of Cuba many additional dimes found their way into the tin box on top of the wardrobe. But it took them all, besides Mrs. Wiggs’s earnings, to keep the family from the awful calamity of “pulling agin a debt.”

One cold December day Billy came in and found his mother leaning wearily on the table. Her face brightened as he entered, but he caught the tired look in her eyes.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Ain’t nothin’ the matter, Billy,” she said, trying to speak cheerfully; “I’m jes’ wore out, that’s all. It’ll be with me like it was with Uncle Ned’s ole ox, I reckon; he kep’ a-goin’ an’ a-goin’ till he died a-standin’ up, an’ even then they had to push him over.”

She walked to the window, and stood gazing absently across the commons. “Do you know, Billy,” she said suddenly, “I ‘ve got the craziest notion in my head. I’d jes’ give anythin’ to see the show at the Opery House this week.”

If she had expressed a wish for a diamond necklace, Billy could not have been more amazed, and his countenance expressed his state of mind. Mrs. Wiggs hastened to explain:

“Course, I ain’t really thinkin’ ‘bout goin’, but them show-bills started me to studyin’ about it, an’ I got to wishin’ me an’ you could go.”

“I don’t ‘spect it’s much when you git inside,” said Billy, trying the effects of negative consolation.

“Yes, ‘t is, Billy Wiggs,” answered his mother, impressively. “You ain’t never been inside a theayter, an’ I have. I was there twict, an’ it was grand! You orter see the lights an’ fixin’s, an’ all the fine ladies an’ their beaus. First time I went they was a man in skin-tights a-walkin’ on a rope h’isted ‘way up over ever’body’s head.”

“What’s skin-tights?” asked Billy, thrilled in spite of himself.

“It’s spangles ‘round yer waist, an’ shoes without no heels to ‘em. You see, the man couldn’t wear many clothes, ‘cause it would make him too heavy to stay up there in the air. The band plays all the time, an’ folks sing an’ speechify, an’ ever’body laughs an’ has a good time. It’s jes’ grand, I tell you!”

Billy’s brows were puckered, and he sat unusually quiet for a while, looking at his mother. Finally he said: “You might take my snow-money from las’ week.”

Mrs. Wiggs was indignant. “Why, Billy Wiggs!” she exclaimed, “do you think I’d take an’ go to a show, when Asia an’ Australia ain’t got a good shoe to their backs?”

Billy said no more about the theater, but that afternoon, when he was out with the kindling, he pondered the matter deeply. It was quite cold, and sometimes he had to put the reins between his knees and shove his hands deep into his pockets to get the stiffness out of them. It really seemed as if everybody had just laid in a supply of kindling, and the shadowy little plan he had been forming was growing more shadowy all the time.

“I ‘spect the tickets cost a heap,” he thought ruefully, as he drew himself up into a regular pretzel of a boy; “but, then, she never does have no fun, an’ never gits a thing fer herself.” And because Billy knew of his mother’s many sacrifices, and because he found it very hard to take Jim’s place, a lump lodged in his throat, and gave him so much trouble that he forgot for a while how cold he was.