" "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. He stood still, almost breathless. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. “Very funny. He—” “Here they are!” said Ann Veronica as the bell sounded. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. He beamed as she whispered to 22 him that she had seen a table so fine or tasted such wonders. \"It's getting late John. They ascended by a lift to one of the upper floors, passed through a long ward, and finally came to a bed in the extreme corner, round which a screen had been arranged. He came into the club next day, and of course we went for him thick.
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