Ha, ha, ha! That's an all right one! I'd be willing to shake hands with the boy who put up that joke on me.

How about my own Timmy, I wonder?
No; Timmy wouldn't be smart enough for this one---but he may have smart friends.
I'll look up that young hopeful of mine!" With that purpose in view, the lantern still in his hand, Mr.
Finbrink passed into the house and then up the back stairs.

On the next floor he pushed open the door of a room, holding the lantern high as he scanned the bed.
There lay Master Timmy, covered only with a sheet, his head sunk in the depths of a pillow, eyes tightly closed, and breathing with almost mechanical rhythm.
"Oh, you're asleep, aren't you ?" demanded his father, in a low, ironical voice.

"How long have you been asleep, Tim ?" But Timmy's only answer was the beginning of a snore.
"Are you very tired, Timmy ?" continued his father craftily.
Still no answer.
Mr.Finbrink held the lantern so that the rays shone fully against the boy's closed eyelids.

Any youngster genuinely asleep would have opened his eyes instantly, and Mr.Finbrink knew it.