'I am,' said the youth. 'And let me beg of you not to make any remark on
my juvenile appearance. I am sick of that.'

They lunched together, and Hugo learnt that the genius, after several
years spent in designing the varnished interiors of public-houses, had
suddenly come out first in an open competition for the town-hall;
thenceforward he had thought in town-halls.

'I want a shop putting up,' said Hugo.

The youth showed no interest.

'And when I say a shop,' Hugo pursued, 'I mean a _shop_.'

'Oh, a _shop_ you mean!' ejaculated the youth, faintly stirred. They
both spoke in italics.

'A _real_ shop. Sloane Street. A hundred and eighty thousand
superficial feet. Cost a quarter of a million. The finest shop in the
world!'

The youth started to his feet.

'I've never had any luck,' said he, gazing at Hugo. 'But I believe you
really do understand what a shop ought to be.'

'I believe I do,' Hugo concurred. 'And I want one.'

'You shall have it!' said the youth.