None for me, thanks.

Dear Word Detective: What is the origin and current use of the word “scribner”? A Canadian coworker says the Canadians use this word like we do “scribe” although it has an expanded meaning of not only taking notes, but watchdogging all paperwork for a project or committee. Do you concur? Was it originally British? — Kathleen.

Hey, this is cool. I finally get to try out my Canadian dictionary. Seriously. I’ve had The Canadian Oxford Dictionary (“The foremost authority on Canadian English”), all 1700 pages of it, sitting on my shelf for almost ten years, where it has collected a formidable layer of dust. I can’t really claim any foresight on this score, however, because Oxford University Press sends me pretty much every dictionary they publish, which may explain why the floor of my office tilts so alarmingly.

Hmm, the book seems to be stuck to the shelf. I must have a word with the housekeeper as soon as I hire one. Here we go, “Scriabin,” “scribbler,” “scribe,” “scrim.” Oops, no “scribner.” Let’s give Google a shot. Nope, lots of references to Charles Scribner’s Sons, the famed American publisher, as well as “Scribner” as a common surname, but no “scribner” in the sense you mention. The Oxford English Dictionary also comes up blank.

It’s certainly possible that your Canadian friend is correct about “scribner” being used as described, but at this point I’m wondering if he or she might have misheard the word “scrivener” as “scribner.” A “scrivener” originally was (the profession being long obsolete) a copyist, a clerk who copied legal documents in longhand before the widespread advent of printing. The most famous (and disturbing) example of this breed is no doubt Bartleby the Scrivener, the subject of of Herman Melville’s short story, whose catch-phrase “I would prefer not to” has resonated with office workers since the story’s publication in 1853.  Incidentally, there has been a case made that what ailed Bartleby was Asperger’s syndrome, a form of autism.

In modern use, “scrivener” (from the Old French “escrivain,” a notary or clerk,” based on the Latin “scribere,” to write,” also the source of “scribe”) is used to mean a clerk, assistant, or “amanuensis,” a lovely word originally meaning “one who takes dictation by hand” (from the Latin “servus a manu,” literally “servant from the hand”). It seems plausible that “scrivener” could be used to mean “someone in charge of the paperwork,” and, given that the word is not commonly heard, the substitution of the simpler form “scribner” seems almost inevitable.

“Amanuensis,” by the way, has also taken on the broader sense of “literary assistant,” especially to a writer. My father, who as a young man worked as a personal assistant for the journalist, essayist and lexicographer H.L. Mencken, took great pride in being introduced by Mencken as “my amanuensis.”

Farm faster, Dwayne.

Dear Word Detective: I’m a more recent reader of your work (I noticed recently that someone had been reading for seven years!), and have enjoyed it. I came cross “agflation” in the Economist last week, and I was curious to see this word. Has this been used before? — Dibyo, Bangalore, India.

Seven years, eh? Well, we all work at our own pace. It used to take me forever to eat my vegetables as a child. In fact, I still have some eggplant from 1961 around here somewhere. The good news is that as long as I keep writing faster than that reader reads, the universe won’t collapse. Can someone bring me another cup of coffee?

I’m not sure it’s the article to which you refer, but I have found a piece in the Economist from last summer that explains “agflation” in simple terms: “Aside from wheat [which has hit a new high], the prices of corn, rice and barley have all risen by over a third since 2005. Food prices around the world are rising so quickly that a new term has been coined to describe the ballooning price of breakfast staples and dinner-time favorites: agflation.” The problem seems due, at least in part, to a rush to grow corn to get government ethanol subsidies, making both corn and every other grain (of which there is now less being grown) more expensive. Combine that with bad weather in Canada (which is apparently one huge corn farm), and a box of Pop-Tarts will soon require one of those “payday” loans.

“Agflation” appears to be a genuinely new word. The earliest press citation I can find for it is only a few months old, from May 6, 2007, also from the Economist, in an article titled, oddly, “Nuns Mug Orphan.” (The Economist is known for inventive headlines. They reported President Reagan’s intestinal growth scare back in the 1980s under the headline “A Polyp Case Now.”) The writers credit the invention of the term “agflation” to the brokerage and investment firm Merrill Lynch, which issued a report titled “Global Agriculture and Inflation” on April 27, 2007.

The genesis of “agflation” is obviously a combination of “agriculture” and “inflation,” although it seems to be being used to mean both the rise in price of agricultural goods themselves and the rise in prices of other goods and services driven by rising food prices.

I don’t pretend to understand economics, but “inflation,” in practical couch-potato terms, means that both couches and potatoes become more expensive. It is the job of economists (who do pretend to understand such things) to coin clever terms to describe the particular flavor of discomfort that consumers are suffering at any given moment. The “flation” of “inflation” lends itself to such inventions, and those old enough may remember the “stagflation” (a blend of “stagnation” and “inflation”) that tormented the US economy in the 1970s. It’s been nearly forty years and I still don’t understand “stagflation,” so I don’t plan to dwell on “agflation” too much. But I am going to plant corn on the front lawn next year.