Lydia turned to him quite prettily impatient, as if he was something she'd have to brush off in a minute.
"Dear, dear!" she says. "Of course I opened it. I told you again and again it was perfectly simple. I don't see why you made so much fuss about it."
Oswald turned and galloped off to his room with a glad shout. That showed the male of him, didn't it?—not staying for words of gratitude to his saviour, but beating it straight to the trunk.
Lydia got up and swaggered after him. She had been swaggering all the evening. She acted like a duchess at a slumming party. The Prof and I followed her.
Oswald was teetering the trunk in the old familiar way, with one ear fastened to its shiny side.
"It's true! It's true!" he says in hushed tones. "The keys are gone."
"Naughty, naughty!" says Lydia. "Haven't I told you I took them out?"
Oswald went over and set limply down on his bed, while we stood in the doorway.
"How did you ever do it?" says he with shining eyes.
"It was perfectly simple," says Lydia. "I simply opened it—that's all!"