If you think it's a possible thing, try it, that's
all. Nor could he knock at the door of Mr. U. W. Ugli, Stock and
Share Broker (and at the Stock Exchange), and inform his clerks
that their chief was really nothing but old clothes that had
accidentally come alive, and by some magic, which he couldn't
attempt to explain, become real during a night spent at a really
good hotel which had no existence.
The situation bristled, as you see, with difficulties. And it was so
long past Gerald's proper dinner-time that his increasing hunger
was rapidly growing to seem the most important difficulty of all. It
is quite possible to starve to death on the staircase of a London
building if the people you are watching for only stay long enough
in their offices. The truth of this came home to Gerald more and
more painfully.
A boy with hair like a new front door mat came whistling up the
stairs. He had a dark blue bag in his hands.
"I'll give you a tanner for yourself if you'll get me a tanner's worth
of buns," said Gerald, with that prompt decision common to all
great commanders.
"Show us yer tanners," the boy rejoined with at least equal
promptness. Gerald showed them. "All right; hand over."
"Payment on delivery," said Gerald, using words from the drapers
which he had never thought to use.
The boy grinned admiringly.
"Knows 'is wy abaht," he said; "ain't no flies on 'im.
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