MARGERY has a passion for writing just now. I can see nothing in it
myself, but if people WILL write, I suppose you can't stop them.
"Will you just lend me your pencil?" she asked.
"Remind me to give you a hundred pencils some time," I said as I
took it out, "and then you'll always have one. You simply eat
pencils."
"Oo, I gave it you back last time."
"Only just. You inveigle me down here--"
"What do I do?"
"I'm not going to say that again for anybody."
"Well, may I have the pencil?"
I gave her the pencil and a sheet of paper, and settled her in a
chair.
"B-a-b-y," said Margery to herself, planning out her weekly article
for the Reviews. "B-a-b-y, baby." She squared her elbows and began
to write....
"There!" she said, after five minutes' composition.
The manuscript was brought over to the critic, and the author stood
proudly by to point out subtleties that might have been overlooked
at a first reading.
"B-a-b-y," explained the author. "Baby."
"Yes, that's very good; very neatly expressed. 'Baby'--I like that."
"Shall I write some more?" said Margery eagerly.
"Yes, do write some more. This is good, but it's not long enough."