yet lost the flavour of novelty.
He even laughed as he realised that again he was hungry and must rely
upon chance for a meal. This time there was no fat confectioner to play
the good Samaritan. But by chance he passed a pawnbroker's shop, and
with a little cry of triumph he dragged a fat, yellow-faced silver watch
from his pocket and stepped blithely inside. He found it valued at much
less than he had expected, but he attempted no bargaining. He walked
out again into the street, a man of means. There were silver coins in
his pocket--enough to last him for a couple of days at least. It was
unexpected fortune.

He bought some tobacco and cigarette papers and rolled himself a
cigarette. Then he stepped out in the direction of the Strand, where he
imagined the restaurants mostly lay. He passed St. James's Palace, up
St. James's Street and into Piccadilly. For a while he forgot his
hunger. There was so much that was marvellous, so much to admire.
Burlington House was pointed out by a friendly policeman; he passed into
the courtyard where the pigeons were feeding, and looked around him with
admiration which was tempered almost with awe. On his way out he again
addressed the policeman.

"I want to have some lunch somewhere," he said. "I can only spend about
two shillings, and I want the best I can get for the money. I wonder
whether you could direct me."

The policeman smiled.

"There's only one place for you, sir," he said, "and it's lucky as I can
direct you there. You go to Spargetti's in Old Compton Street, off Soho
Square. I've heard that there's no West-End place to touch it--and they
do you the whole lot for two bob, including a quarter flask of wine.
I've a brother-in-law as keeps the books there, and I have it from him,
sir, that there ain't such value for money in the whole country. And
there's this about it, sir," he added confidentially, "you can eat
what's set before you. It ain't like some of these nasty, low, foreign
eating-'ouses where you daren't touch rabbit, and the soup don't seem
canny. There's plenty like that, but not Spargetti's. You're all right
there, sir."

Douglas went off, fortified with many directions, and laughing heartily.
He found Spargetti's, and seated himself at a tiny table in a long low
room, blue already with cigarette smoke. They brought him such a
luncheon as he had never eaten before. Grated macaroni in his soup,
watercress and oil with his chicken, a curious salad and a wonde