The man who ran the coconut shies
begged Gerald to throw in his lot with him; the owner of the rifle
gallery offered him free board and lodging and go shares; and a
brisk, broad lady, in stiff black silk and a violet bonnet, tried to
engage him for the forthcoming Bazaar for Reformed Bandsmen.
And all this time the others mingled with the crowd quite
unobserved, for who could have eyes for anyone but Gerald? It was
getting quite late, long past tea-time, and Gerald, who was getting
very tired indeed, and was quite satisfied with his share of the
money, was racking his brains for a way to get out of it.
"How are we to hook it?" he murmured, as Mabel made his cap
disappear from his head by the simple process of taking it off and
putting it in her pocket.
"They'll never let us get away. I didn't think of that before."
"Let me think!" whispered Mabel; and next moment she said, close
to his ear: "Divide the money, and give her something for the
shawl. Put the money on it and say. . ." She told him what to say.
Gerald's pitch was in the shade of the tent; otherwise, of course,
everyone would have seen the shadow of the invisible Mabel as
she moved about making things vanish.
Gerald told the woman to divide the money, which she did
honestly enough.
"Now," he said, while the impatient crowd pressed closer and
closer, "I'll give you five bob for your shawl.
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