“Tell us the beginning, just the beginning.”
“Am tired—alphabet too tedious—Give typewriter ... will inspire typist.”
A murmur went round in the darkness. I rose and went to fetch my typewriter, and it was placed upon the table.
“It’s a ‘Watson,’” said the table. “I won’t have it. Am a French table. Want a French machine ... want a ‘Durand.’”
“‘A Durand?’” said my neighbor on the left, in a disillusioned tone. “Does that brand exist? I don’t know it.”
“Nor I.”
“Nor I.”
“Nor I.”
We were much vexed at this untoward circumstance, when the voice of Cardaillac said slowly:
“I use nothing but a ‘Durand,’ would you like me to fetch it?”