"Get it, then. I never work for nothing."
The ranging eye of Miss Wayne fell upon a figure in a steamer-chair, all huddled up behind a widespread newspaper. There was something suspiciously familiar about the figure. Miss Wayne bore down upon it. The paper—five days old—trembled. She peered over the top of it. Behind and below crouched the Tyro pretending to be asleep.
"Good-morning," said Miss Wayne.
A delicate but impressive snore answered her.
"Mr. Daddleskink!"
No answer. But the face of the victim twitched painfully. It is but human for the bravest martyr to wince under torture.
"Wake up! I know you're not asleep. I will be answered!" She stamped her small but emphatic foot on the deck. The legs of the Tyro curled up under as instinctively as those of an assailed spider.
"There! You see! You needn't pretend. Won't you please speak to me?" The tormentor was having a beautiful time with her revenge.
"Go away," said a hoarse whisper from behind the newspaper.
"I'm in trouble." The voice sounded very childlike in its plea. The Tyro writhed.