"What's 'at?" said Margery, pointing to the last one.
"I must have written notice of that question. I can't tell you offhand."
"What's 'at, uncle dear?"
"Well, I don't know, Margie. It looks something like a collar stud, only somehow you wouldn't expect to find a collar-stud there. Of course it may have slipped.... Or could it be one of those red beads, do you think? N-no, no, it isn't a bead.... And it isn't a raspberry; because this is the wrong week for raspberries. Of course it might be a—— By Jove, I've got it! It's a button!"
I gave the sort of war-whoop with which one announces these discoveries, and Margery whooped too.
"A button!" she cried. "A dear little button!" She thought for a moment. "What's a button?"
This was ridiculous.
"You don't mean to say," I reproached her, "that I've got to tell you now what a button is? That," I added severely, pointing to the top of my waistcoat, "is a button."
"What's 'at?" said Margery, pointing to the next one.
I looked at her in horror. Then I began to talk very quickly.