"I say! don't forget the rug, Sutcliffe!" he bawled over his shoulder
before finally disappearing.

"Oh no! I say, sir! _That's_ what I want to ask you about," said
Sutcliffe, scrambling into the taxi, and settling himself down with a
little nod of satisfaction.

"What?" I inquired, as we bowled out of the station.

"Why, a rug for my--our--study," said the boy. "Gammage has bought no
end of things to make our room comfortable, and they've sent me up some
pictures and chairs and things from home--and--it would be awfully
decent of you if you'd buy me a rug to put in front of the fire-place.
It's rather cheek to ask, but you generally give me something when I
come over to see you, and I arranged with Gammage to say I'd rather have
that than anything. What sort of a shop do you get rugs at? Couldn't we
get it on our way now, and then it would be done with? I might forget to
ask you about it later on."

"What sort of a rug do you want?" I asked, as the taxi turned into
Tottenham Court Road.

"Oh, I don't know, sir. Any sort of an ordinary kind of rug will do.
There's some in that window; one of those would do."

I stopped the taxi and we got out. The window was filled with Oriental
rugs and carpets, and a card in their midst stated that they were "a
recent consignment of genuine old goods direct from Arabia."

"Oh, they're too expensive, I expect," I remarked, as we stood amongst a