"If," I said, "you were a fountain and wanted to be poetical, you
would plash, instead of splashing."

"That's nonsense," she said.

"No," I said, "it's poetry."

"But you don't pour poetry on overhanging trees. It must mean
something else."

"I'll tell you what; we'll get a dictionary."

"Yes," she said, "you get it. I'm no good at dictionaries. I always
find such a lot of fascinating words that I never get to the one I
want."

"I'm rather like that myself," I said. "However I'll exercise
self-restraint. Here you are: Packthread, Pastime, Pin--there's a lot
about Pin--Plash. Got it! It means 'to bend down and interweave the
branches or twigs of.'"

"Now," she said, "we know what Mr. Bradish wants."

"He's a very arbitrary man," I said. "How can he expect Harry
Penruddock to bend down and interweave the branches or twigs of?"

"Anyway, Harry's got to do it, whether he understands it or not."

"Yes," I said, "borough surveyors take no denials. And now that you've
had your lesson in English, you can go and see the cook."