The cab drew up suddenly.

'She's mine, she's mine!' shouted Macassar, rushing into the shop, and disregarding in the ecstasy of the moment the various customers who were quietly eating their ices.

'She's mine, she's mine! With her hair done all _a l'imperatrice_, Sweetly done with the best of grease.
And now for Somerset House.' "Arrived at those ancient portals, he recklessly threw eighteenpence to the cabman, and ran up the stone stairs which led to his office.

As he did so the clock, with iron tongue, tolled four.

But what recked he what it tolled?
He rushed into his room, where his colleagues were now locking their desks, and waving abroad his hat and his umbrella, repeated the chorus of his song.