“No,” she answered, “I do not wish to have the book push through the air at me--so--” (she made a hitchy, overhead girl-gesture of throwing) “and he do not care who you are. Why should he care who you are?” she ended, her eyes now on Leslie and boring into Leslie. It was almost like a movie! “_Really_--” broke out Leslie, and then she stopped and shrugged her shoulders and walked over to stand by a window that had a row of century plants on its sill. And here she hummed to pretend that the whole matter was beneath her notice, but she tapped her foot and _I_ knew that she was angry. Then we waited, and I never felt as if I did so much waiting as I did then, although the waiting wasn’t stretched across more than half an hour. It was stretched tightly, and that makes all the difference! At last the inner door opened--we came to call what lay behind that door “The Torture Chamber”--and a woman came flouncing out. After her passing, a little man with stiff, coarse hair which stood straight up from his head, and a waxed mustache, paced up and down inside the little room. He looked as if he should be wearing a red uniform trimmed with gilt braid and snapping a short, limber whip at crouching lions; I’ve seen dozens just like him in cages! “_Temperamental!_” Leslie whispered, and she was right! “_Fascinating_,” Viola answered, in the same kind of a low, highly charged wheeze. Then we waited some more. At last Signor Paggi came to the door and stared at us. “Well?” he snapped, and I was glad to leave the business to Leslie, who stood up and spoke. “Signor Paggi,” she said, “we have been sent here, because in America you are regarded as the most _marvelous_ person--” “I do not make fools play,” he broke in, “_You remember that!_ You have appointment?” “Yes,” Leslie answered, and with a good deal of resentment in her tone, “I told your office girl, but she--in a manner I must, in fairness to your interests, Signor Paggi, tell you was _insolent_--told me--” “Very good secretary,” (he again interrupted) “I can get many pupils, but only in my life once have I found the good secretary. Come in--” And, silent, we followed him. The room was large and almost empty. It had a bench in it, a table on which was some music, a piano, and near that the chair that Signor Paggi sat in when he wasn’t too agitated to _sit_. “You first,” he said, almost before we had crossed the threshold, and he pointed at me. I went to the piano and sat down. “Well, play!” he barked and I think I played something of MacDowell’s. “Stop!” I heard. I stopped. “What do you see?” “Nothing,” I answered. “It is very clear you see nothing. It is _awful_. You play like a _peeg_! Toodle, toodle, toodle, SQUEAK! _Oh_--” and then he clasped his hand to his forehead and glared up at the ceiling. “You must see peecture,” he said after a moment of silence, “a pretty peecture; I give you time to theenk.” (He did) “Now go!” And I did.