Well, I was seeing a drama and did not even know it.  After the rest had gone, Mr. Patten came to the door into Mr. Beecher’s room in the bath-house—­they are all in a row, with doors opening on the sand—­and he had a box in his hand.  He looked around, and no one was looking except me, and he did not see me.  He looked very Feirce and Glum, and shortly after he carried in a chair and a folding card table.  I thought this was very strange, but imagine how I felt when he came out carrying Mr. Beecher’s clothes!  He brought them all, going on his tiptoes and watching every minute.  I felt like screaming.

However, I considered that it was a practicle Joke, and I am no spoil sport.  So I sat still and waited.  They staid in the water a long time, and the girl with the Figure was always crawling out on the dock and then diving in to show off.  Leila and the rest got sick of her actions and came in to Lunch.  They called up to me, but I said I was not hungry.

“I don’t know what’s come over Bab,” I heard Sis say to Carter Brooks.  “She’s crazy, I think.”

“She’s seventeen,” he said.  “That’s all.  They get over it mostly, but she has it hard.”

I lothed him.

Pretty soon the other crowd came up, and I could see every one knew the joke but Mr. Beecher.  They all scuttled into their doorways, and Mr. Patten waited till Mr. Beecher was inside and had thrown out the shirt of his bathing Suit.  Then he locked the door from the outside.

There was a silence for a minute.  Then Mr. Beecher said in a terrable voice.

“So that’s the Game, is it?”

“Now listen, Reg,” Mr. Patten said, in a soothing voice.  “I’ve tried everything but Force, and now I’m driven to that.  I’ve got to have that third Act.  The company’s got the first two acts well under way, and I’m getting wires about every hour.  I’ve got to have that script.”

“You go to Hell!” said Mr. Beecher.  You could hear him plainly through the window, high up in the wall.  And although I do not approve of an oath, there are times when it eases the tortured Soul.

“Now be reasonable, Reg,” Mr. Patten pleaded.  “I’ve put a fortune in this thing, and you’re lying down on the job.  You could do it in four hours if you’d put your mind to it.”

There was no anser to this.  And he went on: 

“I’ll send out food or anything.  But nothing to drink.  There’s Champane on the ice for you when you’ve finished, however.  And you’ll find pens and ink and paper on the table.”

The anser to this was Mr. Beecher’s full weight against the door.  But it held, even against the full force of his fine physic.

“Even if you do break it open,” Mr. Patten said, “you can’t go very far the way you are.  Now be a good fellow, and let’s get this thing done.  It’s for your good as well as mine.  You’ll make a Fortune out of it.”

Then he went into his own door, and soon came out, looking like a gentleman, unless one knew, as I did, that he was a Whited Sepulcher.