ANGEL PAVEMENT

too, and Miss Matfield smiled at them, not without
condescension.

"Oh, don't be so funny/' Turgis mumbled, giving
Stanley a ferocious scowl.

"That's queer, Smeeth. The same voice-the very
same voice."

"1 believe you're right, Sandycroft. I believe you're
right," said Mr. Smeeth, with the air of a dutiful cross-
talk comedian.

"Sure I am," the other barked. Then he stepped
forward, with a large polite smile on his face, displaying
at least a hundred teeth. "Not Mr. Turgis? Surely it
can't be Mr Turgis?"

"No," said Turgis, who was not very good at this sort
of thing, "it's Charlie Chaplin."

"Well, Mr. Charlie Chaplin Turgis," said Sandy-
croft, "I must congratulate you, I really must. All in
favour, show in the usual way. Thank you very much,
ladies and gentlemen." And he turned away, grinning.

"Ah, well," said Mr. Smeeth, settling down to his
books again, rather as if he had just come to the end of
some great gusty epic of humour, "a bit of fun won't
do any of us any harm now and again. Here, Stanley,
slip round to Nickman and Sons with this and say it's
for Mr. Broadhurst.--for Mr. Broadhurst, mind. And
hurry up, don't take all the morning about it. Don't go
shadowing somebody all round London."

A week had passed, and though news of Mr. Golspie
himself had trickled through into the general office,
Turgis had heard nothing about Lena. It seemed as if
he was making a fool of himself—and being laughed at
by the others for his pains—and he was beginning to feel
very disheartened. On two evenings, he had returned to