"Superior Black Ink!"
And then, save for the clatter of the "sounder," there was silence.
For a moment Nattie gazed blankly at her besmeared hands and ruined dress, at the "sounder," and at the owner of the nose, who returned her look with that expression of serene amusement often noticeable in those who contemplate from afar the mishaps of their fellow beings; then with the courage of despair, she for the fourth time "broke" "X n," saying, with inky impression on the instrument,
"Excuse me, but you will have to wait! I am all ink, and I am being cross-examined!"
Having thus delivered herself, she turned a deliberately deaf ear to "X n's" response, which, judging from the way the movable portion of the "sounder" danced, was emphatic.
"A little new milk will take that out!" complacently said the owner of the nose, watching Nattie's efforts to remove the ink from her dress with blotting-paper.
"Unfortunately I do not keep a cow here!" Nattie replied, tartly.
Not quite polite in Nattie, this. But do not the circumstances plead strongly in her excuse? For, remember, she was not one of those impossible, angelic young ladies of whom we read, but one of the ordinary human beings we meet every day.
The owner of the nose, however, was not charitable, and drew herself up loftily, as she said in imperative accents,
"You did not answer my question! Do you have to learn the sound of each letter so as to distinguish them from each other?"