“How ridiculous!” Peggy retorted. “People usually carry their own keys, don’t they?”
“Yes, that’s true—but this is an unusual house, you must remember. You’ve never seen this key, have you?”
Peggy and Jo Ann shook their heads.
“Well, it’s solid brass, about that long”—she held up her hands eight inches apart—“and weighs a pound or more. In olden days they took the mozo along just to carry the key—when it was necessary to carry it. We’ve found that the key makes a better parlor ornament than anything else.”
“What’s a bozo—or mozo, or whatever you call it?” asked Peggy.
“That’s what they call a manservant,” explained Florence.
Peggy then turned to Jo Ann and remarked teasingly, “The key—weren’t you hunting for a mysterious key? There you are! Your wish has been granted.”
Disregarding Peggy’s remarks, Jo Ann asked eagerly, “Florence, where’s that key? I want to see it.”
“It’ll keep till morning,” Florence returned, snuggling into bed. “Come on—it’s ’most four o’clock, but we can get a nice little nap before time to get up.”
“Tell me where the key is, and I’ll get it,” persisted Jo Ann. “I couldn’t go to sleep for thinking about it—not that it’ll help me though, as Peggy suggested. That’s not the kind of key I’m looking for.”