Bellwattle laid down her sock with the knob of wood inside it and she looked at both of us as though we were creatures from another world.
“And what in the name of goodness,” said she, “is an equi—whatever-you-call-it triangle?”
Cruikshank went on with his explanation quite cheerily. On this proposition he was so sure of himself that confidence was actually glowing in his face.
“Well,” said he, “you know what a triangle is, don’t you?”
She nodded her head promisingly.
“One of those things they sometimes play in bands.”
The look of confidence dropped heavily from Cruikshank’s face; but I seized the opportunity. She understood. At least she had grasped the shape of it. It mattered not at all that in her mind its functions were to play a tune. She appreciated the shape of it. That served its end.
“You’re quite right,” said I quickly. “They have it in an orchestra. It has three sides to it—hasn’t it?”
She nodded her head vivaciously.
“Yes, and two little curly bits at the top where they tie the string on to hang it up by.”