She was feeling in
her pocket for something.
"The beach," I babbled.
"See what I've brought for you, baby," she said. And, by George, don't
you know, she held up in front of the kid's bulging eyes a chunk of
toffee about the size of the Automobile Club.
That finished it. We had just been having a long rehearsal, and the kid
was all worked up in his part. He got it right first time.
"Kiss Fweddie!" he shouted.
And the front door opened, and Freddie came out on to the veranda, for
all the world as if he had been taking a cue.
He looked at the girl, and the girl looked at him. I looked at the
ground, and the kid looked at the toffee.
"Kiss Fweddie!" he yelled. "Kiss Fweddie!"
The girl was still holding up the toffee, and the kid did what Jimmy
Pinkerton would have called "business of outstretched hands" towards
it.
"Kiss Fweddie!" he shrieked.
"What does this mean?" said the girl, turning to me.
"You'd better give it to him, don't you know," I said. "He'll go on
till you do."
She gave the kid his toffee, and he subsided. Poor old Freddie still
stood there gaping, without a word.
"What does it mean?" said the girl again. Her face was pink, and her
eyes were sparkling in the sort of way, don't you know, that makes a
fellow feel as if he hadn't any bones in him, if you know what I mean.
Did you ever tread on your partner's dress at a dance and tear it, and
see her smile at you like an angel and say: "_Please_ don't apologize.
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