I sat down and told him exactly how it had gone, up to the point where she had offered to take the document home and show it to her father.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but some of her outstanding qualities didn’t show much in that crowd the other evening. I give this not as an excuse but merely a fact. Her mental operations could easily be carried on inside a hollowed-out pea. Knowing what you think of unsupported statements, and wanting to convince you of the truth of that one. I got evidence to back it up. Here’s a paper she did sign.”
I handed him the page I had torn from my notebook. He took a look at it and then cocked an eye at me.
“She signed this?”
“Yes, sir. In my presence.”
“Indeed. Good. Satisfactory.”
I acknowledged the tribute with a careless nod. It does not hurt my feelings when he says, “Satisfactory,” like that.
“A bold, easy hand,” he said. “She used your pen?”
“Yes, sir.”
“May I have it, please?”