s;8 ANGEL PAVEMENT

now-and I've come. And I've got here too early, into
the bargain,"

"Mr. Dersingham didn't tell me anything about it,"
said Mr. Smeeth, with the air of a man who liked to be
told something about it.

Goath gave a ferocious pull at the last half inch of his
cigarette and made a horrible hissing noise. "He
wanted to make it a surprise—a pleasant little surprise
for you all-that's it." And as he said this, he tried to
make Miss Matfield, who had just got up from her
machine, accept a friendly leer, but all that it encoun-
tered was a stare like a high wall with broken glass along
the top.

Mr. Smeeth ran a finger backwards and forwards
along his lower lip, a trick of his in a reflective moment.
Now that he had looked at it a little longer, he plainly
liked it still less. But then, after a short pause, he
brightened up, "Perhaps he's got some new stuff to
show you? Perhaps he wants to ask you something
about it?"

"Haven't heard of anything new. I'd have heard.
It always gets round; everything gets round: 'No good
showing us that/ they say. 'Show us some of this new
stuff. That's what we want/ they tell you. That's what
they say, soon enough. 'And they don't know what they
want, not half their time, they don't. There's fellers
making furniture now—and making money out of
it—who don't know a good bit of wood from a bit of
oilcloth. How they get away with it," Goath concluded
mournfully, "beats me."

"That's right, Goath," said Mr. Smeeth. "It beats
me, too. It's cheek that does it, really, that's my opinion
-cheek, and a bit of luck. But honestly now, how arc