He couldn't do here what he wanted to do.

He felt that he must burst.
"Now, off you go.

And you be here at nine o'clock on Sunday-week with the papers, and tell me what you've done." "Gawd--my Gawd!" said the lad, huskily.

The next minute he was out in the hall, and the door was shut behind him.

A moment later, hearing a whoop, Stafford went to the window and, looking down, he saw his late visitor turning a cart-wheel under the nose of a policeman, and then, with another whoop, shooting down into the Mall, making Lambeth way.
With a smile he turned from the window.