Sheik Amut and Spaghetti who was being given another trial by Verbeena after his complete surrender of his garlic supply, and the Sheik's other two pals, Yusef and Hamandaigs, looked one another keenly in the eyes and began openly holding their ribs. But to their surprise no pistol reports or manly howls for help arose from within the tent. Instead the elegant, pallid-faced Mr. Gristmille who had changed from his aeroplane cap into a high hat before entering the tent--instead then of Mr. Gristmille emerging with a scimitar wrapped around his neck or his hat jammed down over his eyes--instead of this, O, Allah, his haughty intrusion into the tent of the doughty little Sheik tamer passed off in most perfect quiet and presently--hands up to Allah again!--he emerged with Verbeena--with Verbeena!--why they hardly recognized her! the way she was acting! Her sturdy, cocky boyish nonchalance was gone, no longer did she swagger and scowl, the little roughneck. Instead she had become as feminine as a powder puff! A mincing, smiling, trusting-eyed little red-headed dear! She was looking up into the cameo profile of the illustrious and bill-postered countenance of Cyril Gristmille as one might gaze into the eye of a golden idol or a $10,000,000 check. Every little trick of ingenuous girlhood was in everything that little Verbeena did and the wondering Amut, Spaghetti and Hulda and Yusef and Hamandaigs ran around telling the tribe about it. And they all agreed they just simply couldn't believe it was Verbeena. They all said it was if it were some female member of her family. But had these innocents ever seen Mary Pickford they would have known where Verbeena was getting her stuff. Little did they know she'd been practicing up on it this many a day. And the while in accents as honeyed as her glances she was saying: "O, Mister--Mister Gristmille, it has been so good of you to come! With all that money! "And do you really think you can make an actress of me? Really?" "I?--Why I," said Mr. Cyril Gristmille, "could make an actress of a doughboy to say nothing of so perfect a little gentleman as you." "How adorable! What do I do first?" "The first thing you do," he said, and suddenly took her by the shoulder and shook her thoroughly, "is to understand that you do every little damn thing I tell you without making any fuss or faces about it. Do you get me?" He shook her again till her curls rattled. Verbeena listened breathlessly and breathless isn't much of a word for it. Her heart wobbled. "You are always to remember _I_--_I_ am boss. "And don't you try to carry out any notions of your own while you are acting around me.