"Hooray!" echoed Alec rather feebly, for he was desperately busy. Outside—now that the fog had lifted—the busy hum could be heard of everyday life, mingled with boys' shouts as they trundled a guy about.
"I've found something out!" suddenly exclaimed Alec in a curious voice, and he spread out on the table the front page of an old Times. "Look here, Frank!" he continued in growing excitement. "Here, under the Births—marked with red pencil—'Guy Thompson!' That's Father—here's the date. Wait a moment. Now I'll reckon it out. Hush! Don't say anything while I do the sum. I say! Father is twenty-one!"
"I knew it!" exclaimed Molly, capering about. "I told you so."
"Rubbish!" said Frank. "Molly, do shut up. Alec, where did you find that paper? How did it come here?"
"I found it there, on the rocking-chair. It looks old, and it is old. See, here's the date. It's very funny! I wish we could find out—it would be jolly to find out all by ourselves, if this really can be true. I say, I know who'd tell us. I've heard all about Somerset House—where you can get to know about people and their affairs—only I don't know where the place is, or who lives there."
"An omlibus will take us anywhere," spoke up Molly.
"Who's us?" inquired Frank scornfully.
"Never mind her," said Alec excitedly. "I'll tell you what. Listen: this afternoon, when we've got to be in the play-room, let's go in a cab to Somerset House, and just get to know once for all. I've got four shillings in my money-box; what have you got?"
"I'll count." Frank counted up to five shillings.
"The man may want more. Mollikins, what have you got in your purse?"