"I wish it would make _them_ sick," said Linton.

"Perhaps it will.... By George!"

He started.

"What's up?" said Linton.

"Oh, nothing. I was only thinking of something."

They walked on without further conversation. Dunstable's brain was
working fast. He had an idea, and was busy developing it.

* * * * *

The manager of the Wrykyn Branch of Ring's Come-one Come-all Stores
stood at the entrance to his shop on the following afternoon spitting
with energy and precision on to the pavement--he was a free-born
American citizen--and eyeing the High Street as a monarch might gaze
at his kingdom. He had just completed a highly satisfactory report to
headquarters, and was feeling contented with the universe, and the way
in which it was managed. Even in the short time since the opening of
the store he had managed to wake up the sluggish Britishers as if they
had had an electric shock.

"We," he observed epigrammatically to a passing cat, which had stopped
on its way to look at him, "are it."

As he spoke he perceived a youth coming towards him down the street.
He wore a cap of divers colours, from which the manager argued that