"But I can't find the ginger
ile."
George waved him away. This interruption at such a moment was
annoying.
"Look for it, child, look for it! Sniff after it! Bay on its trail!
It's somewhere about."
"Wri'!" mumbled Albert through the cake. He flicked a crumb off his
cheek with a tongue which would have excited the friendly interest
of an ant-eater. "I like ginger-ile."
"Well, go and bathe in it."
"Wri'!"
George returned to his letter.
"DEAR MR. BEVAN,
"Thank you ever so much for your note, which Albert gave
to me. How very, very kind of you to come here like this and
to say . . .
"Hey, mister!"
"Good Heavens!" George glared. "What's the matter now? Haven't you
found that ginger-ale yet?"
"I've found the ginger-ile right enough, but I can't find the
thing."
"The thing? What thing?"
"The thing. The thing wot you open ginger-ile with."
"Oh, you mean the thing? It's in the middle drawer of the dresser.
Use your eyes, my boy!"
"Wri'".
George gave an overwrought sigh and began the letter again.
"DEAR MR. BEVAN,
"Thank you ever so much for your note which Albert gave
to me.
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