Mr. Alloyd had no right to be aware
that he was not a Londoner.
"I beg your pardon."
"I come from the Midlands."
"Oh!... Have you seen the Russian Ballet?"
Edward Henry had not--nor heard of it. "Why?" he asked.
"Nothing," said Mr. Alloyd. "Only I saw it the night before last in
Paris. You never saw such dancing. It's enchanted--enchanted! The most
lovely thing I ever saw in my life. I couldn't sleep for it. Not that
I ever sleep very well!--I merely thought, as you were interested
in theatres--and Midland people are so enterprising!... Have a
cigarette?"
Edward Henry, who had begun to feel sympathetic, was somewhat repelled
by these odd last remarks. After all the man, though human enough, was
an utter stranger.
"No thanks," he said. "And so you're going to put up a church here?"
"Yes."
"Well, I wonder whether you are."
He walked abruptly away under Alloyd's riddling stare, and he could
almost hear the man saying, "Well, he's a queer lot, if you like."
At the corner of the site, below the spot where his electric sign was
to have been, he was stopped by a well-dressed middle-aged lady who
bore a bundle of papers.
"Will you buy a paper for the cause?" she suggested in a pleasant,
persuasive tone. "One penny."
He obeyed, and she handed him a small blue-printed periodical of
which the title was "_Azure_, the Organ of the New Thought Church.
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