"Of course it is true, isn't it?" asked Ridgwell and Christine in unison.
"Of course," said the Writer, "every word of it, and anyway if it isn't it ought to be, like all romances."
"But you haven't finished," objected Ridgwell, whilst he munched a muffin, and Christine poured out the tea.
"No," agreed the Writer, "I haven't finished yet, but I warned you that it would be a very long story, didn't I?"
"Oh, but we are so anxious to know what happened to the Skylark and the Miser, I mean the Alderman, for of course he wasn't a miser any more, was he?"
"Well, you see," explained the Writer, as he took his tea contentedly, which he really felt he stood in need of, apart from any consideration of deserving it, "nobody is able to read a long book all at once, and I propose to tell both of you the remainder of this extraordinary story in a few days' time."
"Anyway, that's ripping," vouchsafed Ridgwell.
"I think myself," added the Writer mysteriously, "that the great events
Lal spoke of so long ago are about to happen."
"Do tell us when?" implored Ridgwell.
"I fancy very soon now; of course, you children don't read the papers, do you?"