"The books on abnormal child psychology are in there," she whispered. "And if I were you, honey, I'd hurry."
Toffee gathered up Agatha and Chadwick and joined Marc and Mr. Culpepper, who had been watching from a distance.
"That was fine," she scolded Agatha. "That was a splendid display."
"What did you expect?" Agatha replied haughtily. "The old hag was thumbing me like a ripe watermelon."
"I wish she'd throttled you," Toffee said annoyedly. "Lord knows you deserve it. Your mothers must have been women of great forbearance. How they kept their hands off your little throats is more than I can tell."
The little party made its way through the nearest passage and found itself in a forest of books. Shelves lined on either side stretched out toward them like great, reaching fingers. Here and there a solitary "browser" was picking his way painfully along the long rows, title by title, but on the whole the great, book-jammed room was reasonably deserted. Toffee moved along the ends of the rows, found a browserless section and disappeared inside. Marc and Mr. Culpepper followed. Together, they all retreated to the end of the section and formed a sort of huddle. Marc produced the bottles from beneath his coat.
"How are we going to measure it?" Toffee asked. "We have to give them ten jiggers exactly."
"Do I have to think of everything?" Agatha inquired scornfully. Her small hand emerged from her velvet wrappings, clutching a jigger glass. "It was lying around loose on the counter," she explained.
"As in womanhood," Toffee said philosophically, "so, too, in infancy is she a crook."
As though in solemn ritual, the bottles were silently opened and the initial portion poured.