Say a pound to thirty shillings a week." Paul gasped and sat paralyzed.

Artist, dusty road, gaudy van, distant cornfields and uplands were blotted from his senses.

The cool waves of Pactolus lapped his feet.
"Come and look me up when you get to London," continued the friendly voice.

"My name is Rowlatt-W.

W.Rowlatt, 4, Gray's Inn Square.