"It stands for Right Worshipful Deputy Grand Master," informed Mr. Deeley. "Do you know what N. U. T. stands for?"
"I know what it spells," said Mr. Pottle pointedly.
"You ought to," said Mr. Deeley, letting off his laugh. "But we were discussing abbreviations. Since you don't seem very well informed on this point"—he shot a smile at Mrs. Gallup—"I'll tell you that N. U. T. stands for National Union of Teachers, just as M. F. H. stands for Master of Fox Hounds, and M. I. C. E. stands for Member of Institute of Civil Engineers, and A. O. H. stands for——"
"Oh, Mr. Deeley, how perfectly thrilling!" Mrs. Gallup spoke; Mr. Pottle writhed; Mr. Deeley smiled complacently, and went on.
"I could go on indefinitely; abbreviations are rather a specialty of mine."
It developed that Mr. Deeley had many specialties.
"Are you aware," he asked, focusing his gaze on Mr. Pottle, "that there is acid in this cherry?" He held aloft a candied cherry which he had deftly exhumed from a Choc-O-late Nuttie.
"My goodness!" cried Mrs. Gallup. "Will it poison us? I've eaten six."
"My dear lady"—there was a world of tender reassurance in Mr. Deeley's tone—"only the uninformed regard all acids as poisonous. There are acids and acids. I've taken a rather special interest in them. Let's see—there are many kinds—acetic, benzoic, citric, gallic, lactic, malic, oxalic, palmitic, picric—but why go on?"
"Yes," said Mr. Pottle; "why?"