Timon is fond of raw meat. But failure again resulted. We have now reached
_Syren and Shipping_ and _The Ironmongers' Gazette_ and--
* * * * *
I must stop here to inform you of the glad news. Elaine has just hurried in
to tell me that Timon has replied and will be back to-morrow.
How did we catch his eye? Well, of course we should have thought of it
before. It was _The Post Office Gazette_.
* * * * *
THE ROMANCE OF BOOKMAKING.
A VISIT TO MESSRS. PRYCE UNLTD.
(_With acknowledgments in the right quarter._)
A gigantic commissionaire flings wide the doors for us and, passing
reverently inside, we are confronted by the magnificent equestrian statue
of Mr. Bookham Pryce, the founder of the firm. This masterpiece of the
Post-Cubist School was originally entitled, "Niobe Weeping for her
Children," but the gifted artist, in recognition of Mr. Pryce's princely
offer of one thousand guineas for the group, waived his right to the title.
On the left we see the Foreign Department. Here we watch with rapt
attention the arrival of countless business telegrams from all parts of the
world. We choose one or two at random and see for ourselves the
ramifications of Pryce's far-flung booking service. This one from China:
"Puttee fifty taels Boko Lanchester Cup;" another from distant Siberia,
emerging from the primeval forests of that wondrous land of the future:
"Tenbobski Quitter Ebury Handicap.
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