"The mouse came out of your desk," said Martin.
"Please, I didn't put it there," whined Granny.
"I don't care. You must have known it was there when you got your books out."
"It may have been asleep," suggested Granny with sudden brilliance.
"Rot!"
"Well, I read in a book that mice sleep fourteen hours out of twenty-four. Anyhow I didn't notice it. It's got to put in its fourteen hours some time."
"The fact remains," said Martin, "that you're responsible for the contents of your desk."
"If another chap puts a mouse in your desk, I don't see——"
Martin was tired of the squalid haggling. But what was he to do? On his own theories, he ought to give Granny the benefit of the doubt and let him go. That was plainly the idealist's course. But there was Rayner's advice: should he yield to the claim of expediency and try it? Suddenly the impudent whine of Granny's voice became intolerable and he determined to be stern.
But the subsequent swiping was, as Granny told the workroom, sketchy and amateurish.