The young girl (she was not far from Agnes’ age, after all) stared at him. Her lips moved, but at first no sound came forth. She really looked scared.
“For if you haven’t,” Neale O’Neil went on to say, “I’ve found a couple of fellows who might help out. If you are going to have sort of a vaudeville entertainment, I mean.”
“Would—would that be thuitable, do you thuppoth?” lisped Nalbro Hastings. “I couldn’t imagine what thort of conthert would be exthpected, don’t you know.”
“Oh, my aunt!” thought Neale. “She lisps. Wow!”
Aloud he said, keeping a perfectly straight face: “Who have you got already and what do they do?”
“I—I haven’t done a thing,” admitted Miss Hastings, in evident desperation.
“Whew!” whistled Neale.
“I—I don’t know what to do,” she added. “I—I can’t talk to people, Mithter—er——”
“My name’s Neale O’Neil. I’m with the Kenways and Mr. Howbridge.”
“Oh, with that pretty, pretty Agneth Kenway?”