THEY ARRIVE 27

he plunged at once into the drama of London's under-
world; and as he hopped and dodged about the crowded
streets, like a sandy-haired sparrow, he was able to do
some marvellous shadowing. There also loomed
already, early as it was, a problem that would become
more and more disturbing as the long morning wore
on and he became hungrier and hungrier. This was
the problem of where to go and what to buy for
lunch, for which his mother allowed him a shilling
every day. He always ate his breakfast so quickly that
his stomach forgot about it almost at once and left him
hollow inside by ten o'clock and absolutely aching by
twelve. He often wondered what would happen to him
if, instead of being the first to go to lunch, at half-past
twelve, he was the last, and had to wait until about half-
past one. There are innumerable ways of spending a
shilling on lunch, from the downright solid way of blow-
ing the lot on sausage or fried liver and mashed
potatoes, say at the Pavement Dining Rooms, to the
immediately delightful but rather unsatisfying method
of spreading it out, buying a jam tart here, a banana
there, and some milk chocolate somewhere else; and
Stanley knew them all.

He was trifling with the thought of trying the nearest
Lyons again, and was actually searching his memory to
discover the exact price of a portion of Lancashire Hot-
pot in that establishment, when he was interrupted by
the arrival of a colleague. This was Turgis, the clerk,
who might be described as Stanley's senior or Mr.
Smeeth's junior. He was in his early twenties, a thin-
nish, awkward young man, with a rather long neck,
poor shoulders, and large, clumsy hands and feet. You
would not say he was ugly, but on the other hand you