i^o ANGEL PAVEMENT

discussed at considerable length. Never having set eyes
on any of these Amazons and not being interested in golf,
Mr. Smeeth next tried the gossip columns. The tram was
swaying now and the print fairly dancing, so that it was
at the cost of some eye-strain and a slight headache that
he learned from these paragraphs that Lord Winthrop's
brother, who was over six feet, intended to spend the
winter in the West Indies, that the youngest son of Lady
Nether Stowey could not only be seen very frequently
at the Blue Pigeon Restaurant, but was also renowned
for the way in which he painted fans, that the member
for the Tewborough Division, who must not be mis-
taken for Sir Adrian Putter, now in Egypt, had perhaps
the best collection of teapots of any man in the House,
and that he must not imagine, as so many people did,
that Chingley Manor, where the fire had just occurred,
was the Chingley Manor mentioned by Disraeli, for it
was not; and the paragraphist, who seemed to go about
a great deal, knew them both well. Indeed, he and his
editor seemed to know all about everybody and every-
thing, except Mr. Smeeth and all the other staring men
on the tram, and the people they knew, and all their con-
cerns and all the things in which they were interested.
Nevertheless, Mr. Smeeth reflected, as he carefully
folded the paper, there were a lot of things in it that his
wife would like to read. They seemed to have stopped
writing penny papers for men.

Mr. Smeeth occupied a six-roomed house (with bath)
in a street full of six-roomed houses (with baths), in that
part of Stoke Newington that lies between the High
Street and Clissold Park—to be precise, at the postal
address: 17, Chaucer Road, N,i6. Why the late
Victorian Speculative builder had fastened on Chaucer