"
"There ain't no such thing as magic," said the boy. "I learnt that at
school."
"All right," said Gerald. "Good-bye."
"Oh, go ahead!" said the boy; "you do stick it on, though."
"Well, that magic ring. If I can get hold of It I shall just wish we
were all in a certain place. And we shall be. And then I can deal
with both of them."
"Deal?"
"Yes, the ring won't unwish anything you've wished. That undoes
itself with time, like a spring uncoiling. But it'll give you a
brand-new wish I'm almost certain of it. Anyhow, I'm going to
chance it."
"You are a rotter, aren't you?" said the boy respectfully.
"You wait and see," Gerald repeated.
"I say, you aren't going into this swell place! You can't?"
The boy paused, appalled at the majesty of Pym's.
"Yes, I am they can't turn us out as long as we behave. You come
along, too. I'll stand lunch."
I don't know why Gerald clung so to this boy. He wasn't a very nice
boy. Perhaps it was because he was the only person Gerald knew
in London to speak to except That-which-had-been-Jimmy and the
Ugly-Wugly; and he did not want to talk to either of them.
What happened next happened so quickly that, as Gerald said later,
it was "just like magic". The restaurant was crowded busy men
were hastily bolting the food hurriedly brought by busy waitresses.
There was a clink of forks and plates, the gurgle of beer from
bottles, the hum of talk, and the smell of many good things to eat.
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