"Dot sixpence."
"Well, if you pay your share, we'll take you with us—that is, if you can put on your own hat. I can help you with your coat." And so it was arranged.
And at three o'clock that cold afternoon Alec, Frank, and Molly might have been seen stealing forth into the keen air; they were supposed to be playing at marbles in the garret or they might have been seen, and packed back again. The boys were well muffled up, and Molly had her hat on with the back to the front. The three were in high spirits once they were off, and they realised the full importance of such an adventure. In Alec's hand was the sheet of newspaper in which the truth of the paragraph was to be tested. Alec hailed the first cab, the driver shook his head. The second paid no attention. The third asked them who they thought they were getting at and where they thought they were going to.
"Somerset House!" ordered Alec, after quickly lifting Molly in, and Frank had closed the door smartly. On the way there they behaved much better than they usually did when they drove out. No one fidgeted; no one complained of feeling hungry, or thirsty, or tired, or anything.
When they alighted the cabman was told to wait. Molly and her brothers passed through the imposing gateway of Somerset House, and were starting to cross the quadrangle, when they saw the Beadle in his fine uniform (whom they took to be the Duke), and learned from him where they could find the room of which they were in search.
"Births, please," said Alec, bold as brass, to the gentleman behind the counter. He was leader and spokesman whenever they went shopping, and he was leader and spokesman to-day. Frank never interfered. And Molly had gone stonily shy. "Births, please," repeated Alec, impatient at being stared at.
"What name?" said the gentleman, looking at them amused.
"Thompson," replied Alec.
"Any particular Thompson? You see, we may have several Thompsons in our entries—five or six at least."
"This is Mr. Guy Thompson," said Alec, showing the marked paragraph.