This was no idle threat. Fifteen minutes later, when Kettle and the
After-Clap were at the height of their enjoyment, Mrs. McGillicuddy,
with only a shawl over her head, in the keen December night, was seen
stalking across the plaza and toward the group of men and horses
outside the drill ball; the riders had trooped into the waiting-room
for coffee and sandwiches before the ride began. The troopers, who
knew and admired Mrs. McGillicuddy, made way for her respectfully as
she swooped down on Kettle, to his complete surprise.

"Solomon!" shouted Mrs. McGillicuddy.

Whenever Mrs. McGillicuddy used Kettle's baptismal name it meant the
same thing as when Colonel Fortescue called Mrs. Fortescue
"Elizabeth,"--there was trouble brewing.

"And it's you," continued Mrs. McGillicuddy, in a voice like a bassoon
in a rage, "as the Colonel and Mrs. Fortescue trusted their innocent
lamb, and when they are peacefully watchin' the show you take this pore
baby out of his warm bed and brings him out here to catch his death of
cold, and Patrick McGillicuddy, you'll laugh on the wrong side of your
face when I get you home, and the Colonel shall know this, if my name
is Araminta McGillicuddy."

With that Mrs. McGillicuddy tore the After-Clap from Kettle's arms.
Like Kettle and McGillicuddy and the admiring crowd of troopers, the
baby knew enough to maintain silence when Mrs. McGillicuddy had the
floor.

"Right 'bout face and march," screamed Mrs. McGillicuddy to Kettle, who