_An Unreasonable Old Lady_ (_arriving breathless, with her grandson
and niece_). This'll be the place the balloon goes up from, I wouldn't
miss it for anything! Put the child up on that bench, MARIA; we'll
stand about here till it begins.
_Maria_. But _I_ don't see no balloon nor nothing.
[Which, as the foliage blocks out all but the immediate
foreground, is scarcely surprising.
_The U.O.L._ No more don't I--but it stands to reason there wouldn't
be so many looking on if there wasn't _something_ to see. We're well
enough where we are, and _I_'m not going further to fare worse to
please nobody; so you may do as you _like_ about it.
[Illustration]
[MARIA promptly avails herself of this permission.
_The U.O.L._ (_a little later_). Well, it's time they did _something_,
I'm sure. Why the people seem all moving off! and where's that girl
MARIA got to? Ah, here you are! So you found you were no better
off?--_Next_ time, p'raps, you'll believe what I tell you. Not that
there's any War Balloon as _I_ can see!
_Maria_. Oh, there was a capital view from where _I_ was--out in the
open there.
_The U.O.L._ Why couldn't you say so before? Out in the open! Let's go
there then--it's all the same to _me_!
_Maria_ (_with an undutiful giggle_). It's all the same now--wherever
you go, 'cause the balloon's gone up.
_The U.O.L._ Gone up! What are you telling me, MARIA?
_Maria_. I see it go--it shot up ever so fast and quite steady, and
the people in the car all waved their 'ats to us. I could see a arm a
waving almost till it got out of sight.
_The U.O.L._ And me and this innercent waiting here on the seat like
lambs, and never dreaming what was goin' on! Oh, MARIA, however you'll
reconcile it to your conscience, _I_ don't know!
_Maria_. Why, whatever are you pitching into _me_ for!
_The U.O.L._ It's not that it's any partickler pleasure to _me_,
seeing a balloon, though we _did_ get our tea done early to be in time
for it--it's the sly deceitfulness of your _conduck_, MARIA, which is
all the satisfaction I get for coming out with you,--it's the feeling
that--well, there, I won't _talk_ about it!
[In pursuance of which virtuous resolve, she talks about nothing
else for the remainder of the day, until the unfortunate MARIA
wishes fervently that balloons had never been invented.