jg^ ANGEL PAVEMENT

animal of the undergrowth that had got itself shod with
leather and iron tips; the door burst open; Stanley had
returned.

"Come on, boy, come on," said Mr. Smeeth, looking
over his eyeglasses. "Get those letters copied, sharp as
you can. Don't want us to be here all day, waiting for
you, do you?"

"I want to get the one-five from London Bridge, if I
can, Mr. Smeeth," said Miss Matfield. "I'm spending
the week-end in the country, thank God."

"You'll get it all right, Miss Matfield," Mr. Smeeth
told her. "Plenty of time. Now then, Stanley—bustle
about Sharp's the word, my boy."

"Oo, Miss Matfield," Miss Sellers began, staring at
her, "d'you reelly like the country this weather? I don't
know how you can bear it. I couldn't, not now, when it's
winter. It's not as if it was summer, is it?"

"Like it best in winter, if it's not raining too hard.
Jolly good. Nothing like so filthy as London is in
winter."

"Well, I'm sure it would give me the 'ump," Miss
Sellers declared. "But I do like it in summer. It's lovely
in summer, I think." You could almost see her looking
at the buttercups and daisies. "I like the seaside best,
though, don't you, Miss Matfield? It's lovely at the sea-
side in summer, I think. I've never been in winter. It's
nice in summer even when it rains at the seaside,
isn't it?"

Miss Matfield replied, shortly but amiably, that it was,
and then began clearing up her papers.

"Here," cried Stanley, in the middle of his copying,
"I seen a smash right in Moorgate." He looked round
triumphantly*