LONDON
into the inaudible. "High cockalorum Tootletootle tootle loo. High cockalorum tootle lootle loo. Bump, bump, bump—bump." Joyous, exorbitant music it was from the gigantic nursery of the Future, bearing the hearer along upon its torrential succession of sounds, as if he was in a cask on Niagara. Whiroo! Yah and have at you! The strenuous Life! Yaha! Stop! A Reprieve! A Reprieve! No! Bang! Bump!
Everybody looked round, conversation ceased and gave place to gestures.
The friend of Lady Jane became terribly agitated.
"Can't it be stopped?" she vociferated, pointing a gloved finger and saying something to the waiter about "that dreadful young man."
"Ought not to be working," said the clerical friend of Lady Jane.
The waiter shook his head at the fat, hairless gentleman. People began to move away. Kipps leaned back luxurious, and then tapped with a half crown to pay. He paid, tipped like a gentleman, rose with an easy gesture, and strolled towards the door. His retreat evidently completed the indignation of the friend of Lady Jane, and from the door he could still discern her gestures as asking, "Can't it be stopped?" The music followed him into the passage and pursued him to the lift and only died away completely in the quiet of his own room, and afterwards from his window he saw the friend of Lady Jane and her party having their tea carried out to a little table in the court.
Certainly that was a point to him. But it was his
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