I examined it carefully through the ring of my napkin.
"Well," I said, "speaking largely, I should say it is either Mustard or Cress, or both as the case may be."
I was howled down and retired.
We heard lots of the weed during the next few days. Each morning at breakfast it sprouted forth as it were.
"And how is the Great Unknown?" I would ask.
"The Hairy Bittercress is thriving, we thank you," John would answer.
"Hazel Catkin," Margery would throw out.
"Catkin yourself," from John, and so on ad lib.
They kept it carefully in a small pot in the window, and if one looked at it the other watched jealously for foul play.