"I don't think myself you ever will," observed Carry-on-Merry, quite as if he were thinking of something else.
"What!" said the Griffin. "Never wake?"
"Yes, yes," interrupted Carry-on-Merry hastily, "but you have to go to sleep first, you know, and you had better hurry up whilst the children are eating, then you won't be observed."
"But I want to be observed," objected the Griffin.
"Of course you do," insisted Carry-on-Merry, "but that comes later on.
Go at once."
The amiable Griffin departed accordingly to carry out his part of the programme, and forthwith lumped himself in a distant corner, with the grace of a camel who had found sudden and unexpected opportunities of benefiting his health through sleep. From this slumber the Griffin found it necessary to rouse himself after a little while, upon hearing the children all shouting his name. The entire party having partaken of the delightful refreshments provided according to the various requirements of their constitutions, were watching a moving series of cinematograph pictures of London.
One of the great golden spaces of the walls formed the screen, Gamble, Grin and Grub, full of laughter, manipulated the cinematograph machine, whilst Carry-on-Merry gaily pointed out the pictures with a big golden wand.
All the children loved the pictures, for they were faithful portraits of themselves as they appeared every day in the London streets, when they were not arrayed in gorgeous robes for a Princely Party.
The streets they knew only too well but yet they loved them. Were they not always in the streets—were they not passing every day of their lives the very scenes they were now watching flung upon the screen? The picture being shown at the moment the Griffin heard his name called, was a Royal Procession passing Temple Bar.
Instantly the children recognised the Griffin and called him by name.