“It’s ‘Forceps,’” he said, as soon as he had greeted them; “but it isn’t a fair charade at all. A charade should be divided into its two or more legitimate syllables. But this one is divided ‘Force’ and ‘P.S.’ You see, the P.S. is referred to as the principal part of a lady’s letter.”
“Oh, that old joke!” cried Nan.
“Yes. But, if it hadn’t been for that old joke, I never could have guessed it. For that was what put me on the right track. But the whole charade is distinctly unfair in its construction.”
“I think so, too,” said Patty, who had been looking it over. “Oh! Mr. Hepworth, how did you ever guess it?”
“I told you I would,” he answered, simply.
“Yes; and so I knew you would,” she returned, with a glance as straightforward as his own.
“Now, I’ll add it to my list,” she went on, “and then we’ll go out to the box together, to mail it.”
In a moment, Patty was ready, with the big, fat envelope, clearly addressed and much bestamped.
Throwing a light wrap round her, she went with Mr. Hepworth the half-block to the lamp-post letter-box. But the large envelope would not go in the box.
“Never mind, Patty,” he said; “I’ll take it to the post-office for you. That will be better, anyway, as it may be postmarked a little sooner. And it’s my fault that it’s delayed so late, anyway.”