“Has anyone seen my stylo? My things seem to be bewitched nowadays. They are always disappearing. I searched for my French book for a solid hour yesterday, and this morning it was my penknife, and now it’s the pen—I waste half my time hunting and searching.”
“You are so untidy. If you would be more methodical—”
“I didn’t ask for moral reflections, Barbara. I asked for my pen.”
“Is it a black one? A little stumpy black one—about so long?”
“Yes—yes! That’s it. Have you seen it, Nancy?”
Nancy stroked her chin with a meditative air.
“I did see a stylo somewhere! I remember noticing it—a very nice one. Quite new.”
“Yes—yes; that’s it. Where was it? Do think, Nancy! Cudgel your brains.”
“I am cudgelling them—I’m cudgelling hard.” Nancy nipped her chin between her finger and thumb, and knitted her brows till her eyebrows appeared to meet. “I saw it this morning. It was lying on a shelf, near a window. I can see it before me now.” She waved her hand in the air. “Like a picture. Distinctly!”
“Yes—yes—yes! But where? Think! In the big classroom?”