Then his grief found utterance, and the closing strains of the orchestra were mingled with a prolonged wail of infinite sadness.
"Owgooste, what is ut ?" cried his mother eyeing him with dawning suspicion; then suddenly, "What haf you done?
You haf ruin your new Vauntleroy gostume!" Her face blazed; without more ado she smacked him soundly.

Then it was that Owgooste touched the limit of his misery, his unhappiness, his horrible discomfort; his utter wretchedness was complete.

He filled the air with his doleful outcries.

The more he was smacked and shaken, the louder he wept.
"What--what is the matter ?" inquired McTeague.
Trina's face was scarlet.

"Nothing, nothing," she exclaimed hastily, looking away.