Travelling home by an indirect route, he stopped at a busy English seaport, and saw a great town-hall majestically rising in the midst of a park. The beautiful building did not appeal to him in vain. At the gates of the park he encountered a youth, who was staring at the town-hall with a fixed and fascinated stare.
'A fine structure,' Hugo commented to the youth.
'I think so,' was the reply.
'Can you tell me who is the architect?' asked Hugo.
'I am,' said the youth. 'And let me beg of you not to make any remark on my juvenile appearance. I am sick of that.'
They lunched together, and Hugo learnt that the genius, after several years spent in designing the varnished interiors of public-houses, had suddenly come out first in an open competition for the town-hall; thenceforward he had thought in town-halls.
'I want a shop putting up,' said Hugo.
The youth showed no interest.
'And when I say a shop,' Hugo pursued, 'I mean a shop.'
'Oh, a shop you mean!' ejaculated the youth, faintly stirred. They both spoke in italics.