Maggie Browne

“ He’s a clever chap! No wonder he can’t find the piece of his jacket. He’ll never be a whole number again.”
“Do you think we should have been working at these sums all this time if we had had the right questions?” demanded a boy whose black and white dress, covered with L’s and S’s and D’s, clearly showed he was the Ellessdee Thirteen-fourteenths had expected to find in the buildings.
“If we had had the right questions,” shouted a girl, “our backs and our heads wouldn’t be aching this minute.”
“Anybody can put wrong sums right if they have the right questions,” called several figures. ”

“ Wrong sums lying about mixed up with right sums, pence and pounds lying about on the floor. It is quite evident that something has gone wrong with poor old Ellessdee.”
But in the small building next door Thirteen-fourteenths found pretty nearly the same state of things—compound addition sums lying about, papers and books not sorted. There was not quite such untidiness, not quite so much mess, for there was never as much work in the addition as in the subtraction building; people in the world seem to find it easier to take money away than to pile it up. ”

“ But all Thirteen-fourteenths could hear at the door was a buzz of chatter. “Pass the india-rubber!” “Anyone got a blue pencil?” “More paper, please,” and other equally valuable and interesting remarks.
He pushed open the door and stepped inside.
“It is Thirteen-fourteenths,” called out several voices, and before he could speak a word he found himself dragged across the hall and placed in a desk. A large blue pencil was put in his hand, a large piece of paper was laid before him, which was covered with figures, and at the bottom of which was written in big letters—
“Answer? ”