"And to think that she's my daughter," said the King proudly.
"Oh! was that just play?" asked Billy, relieved, but very sore about the scalp, for Sterry had not been gentle.
"Yes, wasn't it grand?" said she sitting down. "I'd have been on the stage long ago—I mean really on the stage, you know, and acting for real stage money, but there's so much jealousy in the profession that I can't seem to get a hearing."
"That's too bad," said Billy sympathetically. "What do theatre managers say to your acting?"
"Just what you said—that it's too bad; but my friends all say I'm just grand, and by all means should go on the stage. Father, you may turn off the light now; I'm through."
"Thank goodness," murmured Billy to himself.
"What did you say?" whispered Jack Frost.
"I was talking to myself," said Billy.
"That's a waste of time; though I suppose you're more interested in your conversation than any one else."
"That's sarcastic."