15> ANGEL PAVEMENT

by this time the day after to-morrow, my name's not
Jimmy Golspie."

"Make plenty of money, be rich, eh?"

"No, it's too honest But I'll pick a bit up, to be
going on with."

"Ah, no, no," cried the captain, reaching over and
patting Mr. Golspie on the shoulder, "you make plenty,
here in London. Ho-ho, yes! Plenty! Money here in
London-oh!—" And he held out his hands as if he ex-
pected the Bank of England to be emptied into them.

"Not so much as you think," said Mr, Golspie, shak-
ing his head very slowly. "Oh, no, not at all. They
may have it, but it's all tied up. It's not—er—shir-
circulating. I tell you, they're slow here, they're slow."

"You think they sleep?"

"That's right. Half asleep, most of 'em/'

"Ho-ho," roared the captain. "And you will put
them awake?"

"One or two, p'rhaps, I might be able to shake up a
bit. If not, I'm on the move again. And 111 have to
be on the move now, boys. I told that steward's mate
—the fellow that plays the concertina—to go and get
me a taxi and take my traps ashore. It ought to be
there, at the corner, any minute now. All right then.
Just a last one for luck."

They were having this last one, with some formality,
when the man returned to say that the taxi was waiting.
Mr. Golspie led the way to the deck, and then stopped
near the gangway to say good-bye.

"Now for it," he cried, more for his own benefit than
for his listeners'. "Straight back into the old rabbit
warren. God, what a place! Millions and millions
and most of 'em don't know they're born yetl Eyes