"I'm living in hopes of a psychic revelation, dear," she said to William's mother. "In hopes! I've heard of wonderful experiences, but so far none—alas!—have befallen me. Automatic writing I have tried, but any communication the spirits may have sent me that way remained illegible—quite illegible."
She sighed.
William eyed her with scorn while he consumed reckless quantities of hot cakes.
"I would love to have a psychic revelation," she sighed again.
"Yes, dear," murmured Mrs. Brown, mystified. "William, you've had enough."
"Enough?" said William, in surprise. "Why I've only had——" He decided hastily against exact statistics and in favour of vague generalities.
"I've only had hardly any," he said, aggrievedly.
"You've had enough, anyway," said Mrs. Brown firmly.
The martyr rose, pale but proud.
"Well, can I go then, if I can't have any more tea?"