It was
a page-boy with a telegram. George opened the envelope resentfully.
"No answer."
The telegram read:
"Am told we have got it.--PONTING"
Ponting was George's assistant. The news referred to a competition for
an enormous barracks in India--one of the two competitions pending. It
had come sooner than expected. Was it true? George was aware that
Ponting had useful acquaintanceship with a clerk in the India Office.
He thought, trying not to believe:
"Of course Ponting will swallow anything."
But he made no attempt to sleep again. He was too elated.
V
Through a strange circumstance George arrived late for the Opening lunch
in the lower hall, but he was late in grave company. He had been
wandering aimlessly and quite alone about the great interiors of the
town hall when he caught sight of Mr. Phirrips, the contractor, with the
bishop and the most famous sporting peer of the north, a man who for
some mystical reason was idolized by the masses of the city.
Unfortunately Mr. Phirrips also caught sight of George. "Bishop, here is
Mr. Cannon, our architect. He will be able to explain perhaps better--"
And in an instant Mr. Phirrips had executed one of those feats of
prestidigitation for which he was renowned in contracting circles, left
George with the bishop, and gone off with his highly prized quarry, the
sporting peer.
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