“These grapes aren’t very good, Mummer,” remarked the young lady, “not nearly so good as the ones last week.”
“Naturally,” returned the witch, somewhat grimly. “I had to pay for these.”
“Oh, of course,” said her daughter. “You didn’t have your Cloak of Darkness when you went marketing to-day.”
“And the High Cost of Living is something awful when the market-man can see you every minute, and you can’t take a thing without paying for it,” complained her mother. “If I don’t find that Cloak soon, I just hope the government will get after those dishonest profiteers.”
“Mummer,” said her daughter, thoughtfully, after a moment.
“Well?”
“Wasn’t your Cloak in the bathroom closet?”
“Yes, but I’ve hunted all through and I’m sure it isn’t there.”
“But, Mummer,—I hate to think of it—but those plumbers yesterday—”
The witch gasped and sat down heavily. “My word! You’re right! That’s just where it’s gone!”