"Just a moment," said everybody. They wrote down another word or two (which isn't fair) and then began to add up. "I've got thirty," said one. "Thirty-two." "Twenty-five." "Good heavens," I said, "I've only got seven." There was a shout of laughter. "Then you'd better begin," said somebody. "Read them out." I coughed doubtfully, and began; "_Napoleon._" There was another shout of laughter. "I am afraid we can't allow that." "Why ever not?" I asked in amazement. "Well, you'd hardly find him in a kitchen, would you?" I took out a handkerchief and wiped my brow. "I don't want to find him in a kitchen," I said nervously. "Why should I? As a matter of fact, he's dead. I don't see what the kitchen's got to do with it. Kitchens begin with a K." "But the game is called 'Furnishing a Kitchen.' You have to make a list of things beginning with N which you would find in a kitchen. You understood that, didn't you?" "Y-y-yes," I said. "Oh y-y-y-yes. Of course." "So Napoleon----" I pulled myself together with a great effort. "You don't understand," I said with dignity. "The cook's name was Napoleon." "Cooks aren't called Napoleon," said everybody. "This one was. Carrie Napoleon. Her mistress was just as surprised at first as you were, but Carrie assured her that----" "No, I'm afraid we can't allow it." "I'm sorry," I said; "I'm wrong about that. Her name was Carrie Smith. But her young man was a soldier, and she had bought a 'Life of Napoleon' for a birthday present for him. It stood on the dresser--it did, really--waiting for her next Sunday out." "Oh! Oh, well, I suppose that is possible. Go on." "_Gnats_," I went on nervously and hastily. "Of course I know that----" "Gnats are spelt with a G," they shrieked. "These weren't. They had lost the G when they were quite young, and consequently couldn't bite at all, and cook said that----" "No, I'm afraid not." "I'm sorry," I said resignedly. "I had about forty of them--on the dresser. If you won't allow any of them, it pulls me down a lot. Er--then we have Nitro-glycerine." There was another howl of derision. "Not at all," I said haughtily. "Cook had chapped hands very badly, and she went to the chemist's one evening for a little glycerine. The chemist was out, and his assistant--a very nervous young fellow--gave her nitro-glycerine by mistake. It stood on the dresser, it did, really." "Well," said everybody very reluctantly, "I suppose----" I went on hastily: "That's two. Then _Nobody_. Of course, you might easily find nobody in the kitchen. In fact you would pretty often, I should say. Three. The next is _Noon_. It could be noon in the kitchen as well as anywhere else. Don't be narrow-minded about that." "All right. Go on." "_Non-sequitur_," I said doubtfully. "What on earth----"