George looked up testily. The boy Albert had reappeared.
"What's the matter? Can't you find the cake?"
"I've found the kike," rejoined Albert, adducing proof of the statement in the shape of a massive slice, from which he took a substantial bite to assist thought. "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.