"Why, what is this?" he exclaimed, eying her sharply.
"Oh, excuse me, sir," begged Alice, "I have spoiled your nice blotter. I am so sorry."
"Never mind the blotter, but—" He bent closer over the scrawled words, and then with a troubled look: "Did you write this?"
"Why—er—why—yes, sir, I'm afraid I did," she stammered.
"Don't you know you did?" he demanded.
"I—I wasn't thinking," she pleaded in fright.
"'Did you write this?'"
He stared at her for a moment, then he went to his desk, picked up a printed form, filled it out quickly and handed it to her.