The office table confronted Sarah Brown, and she wondered that she could ever have seen it as anything but a butt.

She wondered how she had been able to sit daily in front of that stout and earnest index without poking it in the ribs and making a fool of it.

The office clock, alone among clocks, had never played a practical joke.

The sad fire below it, conscious of a Mission, was overloaded with coal and responsibility.
The second bite, ten minutes later, caused Sarah Brown to be tired and distrustful of a room that had no smile.

Her eyes turned to seek the hidden Joke beyond the limits of that lamentable room.