"Given away?" echoed the children blankly.
The Writer nodded.
"I can't make out how you can bear to part with it," suggested
Ridgwell; "I know I would never give it away. Who is it for?"
"You will both see presently; and really, you know, if you come to consider it, it is not of any use giving anybody something one does not care for, for that is not a gift at all."
"It seems jolly hard to part with the one thing you like best," observed Ridgwell.
The Writer laughed. "Ah! Ridgwell, that is the only kind of gift worth giving in the world."
CHAPTER VII
THE LION MAKES HIS SIGN
Tea was finished, the remains of it were cleared away, and the heavy
curtains drawn over the big windows overlooking Trafalgar Square.
Having turned on all the electric lights he could find, the Writer led
Ridgwell and Christine by either hand towards the door.
"The Lord Mayor has arrived," he whispered, "I can hear him coming up the stairs. Now as he comes into the door let us all bow down with a low curtsey, and say, 'Welcome, Sir Simon Gold, Lord Mayor of London.'"