"Cooks aren't called Napoleon," said everybody.
"This one was. Carrie Napoleon. Her mistress was just as surprised at first as you were, but Carrie assured her that——"
"No, I'm afraid we can't allow it."
"I'm sorry," I said; "I'm wrong about that. Her name was Carrie Smith. But her young man was a soldier, and she had bought a 'Life of Napoleon' for a birthday present for him. It stood on the dresser—it did, really—waiting for her next Sunday out."
"Oh! Oh, well, I suppose that is possible. Go on."
"Gnats," I went on nervously and hastily. "Of course I know that——"
"Gnats are spelt with a G," they shrieked.
"These weren't. They had lost the G when they were quite young, and consequently couldn't bite at all, and cook said that——"
"No, I'm afraid not."
"I'm sorry," I said resignedly. "I had about forty of them—on the dresser. If you won't allow any of them, it pulls me down a lot. Er—then we have Nitro-glycerine."