Cyril was demanding for the eighth time: "WHY won't you tell me?
Aw, I think you might! What's going to happen that's so nice, Friday ?" "Wait till Friday and see," laughed the Mistress.
"Shucks!" he snorted.

"You might tell me, now.

I don't want to wait and get s'prised.

I want to know, NOW.

Tell me!" Under her tolerant smile, the youngster's voice scaled to an impatient whine.