He thought of the crimply waves in Mona's hair, and pondered
what adjectives would best describe it without seeming
commonplace. "Rippling" was too old, though it did seem to hit
the case all right. He laid down the pad and nearly stood on
his head trying to reach his Dictionary of Synonyms and Antonyms
without getting out of his chair. While he was clawing after it-
-it lay on the floor, where he had thrown it that morning
because it refused to divulge some information he wanted--he
heard some one open and close the kitchen door, and came near
kinking his neck trying to get up in time to see who it was. He
failed to see anyone, and returned to the dictionary.

"'Ripple--to have waves--like running water.'" (That was just
the way her hair looked, especially over the temples and at the
nape of her neck--Jove, what a tempting white neck it was!)
"Um-m. 'Ripple; wave; undulate; uneven; irregular.'" (Lord,
what fools are the men who write dictionaries!) "'Antonym --hang
the antonyms!"

The kitchen door slammed. He craned again. It was Jack-- going
to town most likely. Thurston shrewdly guessed that Mrs.
Stevens leaned far more upon Mona than she did upon Jack,
although he could hardly accuse her of leaning on anyone. But
he observed that the men looked to her for orders.

He perceived that the point was gone from his pencil, and
proceeded to sharpen it. Then he heard Mona singing in the
kitchen, and recollected that Mrs. Stevens had promised him
warm doughnuts for supper. Perhaps Mona was frying them at that