Gerald knew this time, without need of
repetition, that the Ugly-Wugly had said: "Knock 'em up."
"You can't," Gerald explained; "they re all stone deaf every single
person who keeps a hotel in this town. It's," he wildly plunged "it's
a County Council law. Only deaf people are allowed to keep
hotels. It's because of the hops in the beer," he found himself
adding; "you know, hops are so good for ear-ache."
"I 0 wy ollo oo," said the respectable Ugly-Wugly; and Gerald was
not surprised to find that the thing did "not quite follow him."
"It is a little difficult at first," he said. The other Ugly-Wuglies
were crowding round. The lady in the poke bonnet said Gerald
found he was getting quite clever at understanding the
conversation of those who had no roofs to their mouths:
"If not a hotel, a lodging."
"My lodging is on the cold ground," sang itself unbidden and
unavailing in Gerald's ear. Yet stay was it unavailing?
"I do know a lodging," he said slowly, "but ," The tallest of the
Ugly-Wuglies pushed forward. He was dressed in the old brown
overcoat and top-hat which always hung on the school hat-stand to
discourage possible burglars by deluding them into the idea that
there was a gentleman-of-the-house, and that he was at home. He
had an air at once more sporting and less reserved than that of the
first speaker, and anyone could see that he was not quite a
gentleman.
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