I'll do my best to please you all!"
Mr. Waite spoke jerkily, and his voice proved a little out of control, but everybody congratulated him.
"How he rolls his eyes to be sure," said Vivian Baskerville. "A very daps of a Turk, for sartain."
"You ought to stride about more, Waite," suggested Ned Baskerville, who had cheered up of recent days, and was now standing beside Cora and other girls destined to assist the play. "The great thing is to stride about and look alive—isn't it, Mr. Masterman?"
"We'll talk afterwards," answered Dennis. "We mustn't interfere with the action. You have got your speech off very well, Waite, but you said it much too fast. We must be slow and distinct so that not a word is missed."
Timothy, who enjoyed the praise of his friends, liked this censure less.
"As for speaking fast," he said, "the man would speak fast. Because he expects St. George will be on his tail in a minute. He says, 'I know he'll pierce my skin.' In fact, he's pretty well sweating with terror from the first moment he comes on the stage, I should reckon."
But Mr. Masterman was unprepared for any such subtle rendering of the Turkish Knight, and he only hoped that the more ancient play-actors would not come armed with equally obstinate opinions.
"We'll talk about it afterwards," he said. "Now you go off to the right, Waite, and Father Christmas comes on at the left. Mr. Baskerville—Father Christmas, please."
Nathan put his part into his pocket, marched on to the imaginary stage and bowed. Everybody cheered.