"It's your play, Norman," said Mrs. Sawtelle, sweetly.
"You look as if you had something on your mind," said Mrs. Gunnison.
"How are you getting along up there, Norm?" her husband called. "Those women got you buffaloed?"
Buffaloed? He came back to reality with a jerk. That was just what they almost had done. And all because the human imagination was a thoroughly unreliable instrument, like a rubber ruler. Let's see, if he played his queen it might set up a king in Mrs. Gunnison's hand so she could get in and run her spades.
After that round, Tansy served refreshments, and the usual shop talk began.
"Saw Pollard today," Gunnison remarked, helping himself to a section of chocolate cake. "Told me he'd be meeting with the trustees tomorrow morning, to decide among other things on the chairmanship in sociology."
Hervey Sawtelle choked on a crumb and almost lost his coffeecup.
Norman caught Mrs. Sawtelle glaring at him vindictively. She changed her face and murmured, "How interesting." He smiled. That kind of hate he could understand. No need to confuse it with witchcraft.
He went to the kitchen to get Mrs. Carr a glass of water, and met Mrs. Gunnison coming out of the bedroom. She was slipping a leather-bound booklet into her capacious handbag. It recalled to his mind Tansy's diary. Probably an address book.