"What for?" demanded Wood. The beachcomber, the lowest in the human scale; and some day he would enter into this estate. The stage manager reappeared presently, and made a speech. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse.
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