Margery retired to her study, charged with an entirely new
inspiration, and wrote her second manifesto. It was this:--

G O T

"Got," she pointed out.

I inspected it carefully. Coming fresh to the idea Margery had
treated it more spontaneously than the other. But it was distinctly
a "got." One of the gots.

"Have you any more words?" she asked, holding tight to the pencil.

"You've about exhausted me, Margery."

"What was that one you said just now? The one you said you wouldn't
say again?"

"Oh, you mean 'inveigle'?" I said, pronouncing it differently this
time.

"Yes; write that for me."

"It hardly ever comes in. Only when you are writing to your
solicitor."

"What's 'solicitor'?"

"He's the gentleman who takes the money. He's ALWAYS coming in."