"
"Not many," Gerald owned with modest pride. "Cut along, there's a
good chap. I've got to wait here. I'll take care of your bag if you
like."
"Nor yet there ain't no flies on me neither," remarked the boy,
shouldering it. "I been up to the confidence trick for years ever
since I was your age."
With this parting shot he went, and returned in due course
bun-laden. Gerald gave the sixpence and took the buns. When the
boy, a minute later, emerged from the door of Mr. U. W. Ugli,
Stock and Share Broker (and at the Stock Exchange), Gerald
stopped him.
"What sort of chap's that?" he asked, pointing the question with a
jerk of an explaining thumb.
"Awful big pot," said the boy; "up to his eyes in oof. Motor and all
that."
"Know anything about the one on the next landing?"
"He's bigger than what this one is. Very old firm special cellar in
the Bank of England to put his chink in all in bins like against the
wall at the corn-chandler s. Jimminy, I wouldn't mind 'alf an hour
in there, and the doors open and the police away at a beano. Not
much! Neither. You'll bust if you eat all them buns."
"Have one?" Gerald responded, and held out the bag.
"They say in our office," said the boy, paying for the bun
honourably with unasked information, "as these two is all for
cutting each other's throats oh, only in the way of business been at
it for years.
Pages:
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195