"Work all my days," he said, "at this!"
It was an astonishing five minutes for the little geologist he had, in his preoccupation, overlooked. This poor little creature having dodged two boulders by a hairbreadth, got out by the westward corner and fled athwart the hill, with flapping rucksack and twinkling knickerbockered legs, leaving a trail of Cretaceous echinoderms behind him, while young Caddles, satisfied with the destruction he had achieved, came striding out to fulfil his purpose in the world.
"Work in that old pit, until I die and rot and stink!. . . What worm did they think was living in my giant body? Dig chalk for God knows what foolish purpose! Not I!"
The trend of road and railway perhaps, or mere chance it was, turned his face to London; and thither he came striding, over the Downs and athwart the meadows, through the hot afternoon, to the infinite amazement of the world. It signified nothing to him that torn posters in red and white bearing various names flapped from every wall and barn; he knew nothing of the electoral revolution that had flung Caterham, "Jack the Giant-killer," into power. It signified nothing to him that every police station along his route had what was known as Caterham's ukase upon its notice board that afternoon, proclaiming that no giant, no person whatever over eight feet in height, should go more than five miles from his "place of location" without a special permission. It signified nothing to him that on his wake belated police officers, not a little relieved to find themselves belated, shook warning handbills at his retreating
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