he way seems to be to talk right through her talk. The acute
creatures have ears to hear with and mouths to talk with, and they
apparently find no difficulty in using both at the same time.
Somewhere along about the middle of Polly's discourse Marie Louise
began to answer it before it was finished. Why should she wait when
she knew what was coming? So she said contemporaneously and
covocally:

"But I'm not going to marry a ship-builder, my dear. Don't be absurd!
I'm not planning to take an intelligent interest in Mr. Davidge's
business. I'm planning to take an intelligent interest in my own. I'm
going to be a ship-builder myself, and I want to learn the A B C's."

They finished that argument at the same time and went on together down
the next stretch in a perfect team:

"Oh, well of course, if "Mr. Davidge tells me,"
that's the case," asserted Marie Louise explained, "that
Polly, "then you're quite women are needed in ship-
crazy--unless you're simply building, and that anybody
hunting for a new sensation. can learn. In fact, every-
And on that score I'll admit body has to, anyway; so
that it sounds rather interest- I've got as good a chance as
ing. I may take a whack at a man. I'm as strong as a
it myself. I'm quite fed up horse. Fine! Come along,
on bandages and that sort of and we'll build a U-boat
thing. Get me a job in the chaser together. Mr. Davidge
same factory or whatever would be delighted to
they call it. Will you?" have you, I'm sure."

This was arrant hubbub to the mere man who was not capable of carrying
on a conversation except by the slow, primitive methods of Greek
drama, strophe and antistrophe, one talking while the other listened,
then _vice versa_.

So he had time to remember that he had something to remember, and to
dig it up. He broke in on the dialogue:

"By the way, that reminds me, Marie Louise. There's a man in town
looking for you."

"Looking for me!" Marie Louise gasped, alert as an antelope at once.
"What was his name?"

"I can't seem to recall it. I'll have it in a minute. He didn't
impress me very favorably, so I didn't tell him you were living with
us."

Polly turned on Tom: "Come along, you poor nut! I hate riddles, and so
does Marie Louise."

"That's it!" Tom cried. "_Riddle--Nuddle_. His name is Nuddle. Do you
know a man named Nuddle?"

The name conveyed nothing to Marie