Not a word of William’s speeches was audible in the next scene, but his attack on and consumption of the aged grandmother was one of the most realistic parts of the play, especially considering the fact that his arms were imprisoned.

“Not so roughly, William!” said the prompter in a sibilant whisper.  “Don’t make so much noise.  They can’t hear a word anyone’s saying.”

At last William was clothed in the nightgown and nightcap and lying in the bed ready for little Red Riding-Hood’s entrance.  The combined effect of the rug and the head and the thought of Cuthbert had made him hotter and crosser than he ever remembered having felt before.  He was conscious of a wild and unreasoning indignation against the world in general.  Then Joan entered and began to pipe monotonously: 

    “Dear grandmamma, I’ve come with all quickness
     To comfort you and sooth your bed of sickness,
     Here are some little dainties I have brought
     To show you how we cherish you in our thought.”

Here William wearily rose from his bed and made an unconvincing spring in her direction.

But on to the stage leapt Cuthbert once more, the vision in blue and white with golden curls shining and sword again drawn.

“Ha! evil beast——­”

It was too much for William.  The heat and discomfort of his attire, the sight of the hated Cuthbert already about to embrace his Joan, goaded him to temporary madness.  With a furious gesture he burst the pins which attached the dining-room hearth-rug to his person and freed his arms.  He tore off the white nightgown.  He sprang at the petrified Cuthbert—­a small wild figure in a jersey suit and a wolf’s head.

[Illustration:  THE SIGHT OF THE HATED CUTHBERT ABOUT TO EMBRACE HIS JOAN GOADED WILLIAM TO TEMPORARY MADNESS.]

Mrs. de Vere Carter had filled Red Riding-Hood’s basket with packages of simple groceries, which included, among other things, a paper bag of flour and a jar of jam.

William seized these wildly and hurled handfuls of flour at the prostrate, screaming Cuthbert.  The stage was suddenly pandemonium.  The other small actors promptly joined the battle.  The prompter was too panic-stricken to lower the curtain.  The air was white with clouds of flour.  The victim scrambled to his feet and fled, a ghost-like figure, round the table.

“Take him off me,” he yelled.  “Take him off me.  Take William off me.”  His wailing was deafening.

The next second he was on the floor, with William on top of him.  William now varied the proceedings by emptying the jar of jam on to Cuthbert’s face and hair.

They were separated at last by the prompter and stage manager, while the audience rose and cheered hysterically.  But louder than the cheering rose the sound of Cuthbert’s lamentation.

“He’th a nathty, rough boy!  He puthed me down.  He’th methed my nith clotheth.  Boo-hoo!”