“Think of the Pillar-Box,” said Ginger firmly. So they bought an evening newspaper which they didn’t want, and told the Evening Newsboy to let the children know there’d be a party in the Square during the small hours. Then they put the pennies in the Pillar-Box. They had had several other customers that day, and the Pound was nearly reached. At ten minutes to seven an old lady in a black bonnet and corkscrew curls stepped up to ask the weather. “Set fair, madam,” said Ginger. “How much will that be?” said the old lady. “One penny, madam,” said Ginger. The old lady paid her penny. She was the Weatherhouse’s last customer. When they posted her penny the Pillar-Box burst. “Hurrah!” } { Gypsy. } cried { “Hurrah!” } { Ginger. The theatre crowd that evening found the Weatherhouse shutters up, and a placard outside saying: THESE PREMISES ARE CLOSED. GYPSY AND GINGER ARE RETIRING FROM BUSINESS. [Illustration: GYPSY AND GINGER GIVE A PARTY] People who have only seen London on Coronation Day, or Lord Mayor’s Show Day, or on the day when the Ambassador of Calamiane is given the Freedom of the City, do not really know of what she is capable in the way of festival. All these occasions are foreseen and dress-rehearsed. The costume is provided in advance, and it is trusted that the spirit, as well as the body, may inhabit it on the day. But when the time comes it is usually about some business of its own; for in spite of the newspapers the spirit is not the body’s house-dog. It doesn’t come when it’s whistled for. Its breed is tameless. But when it springs out of its wilds it does in an hour what Committees cannot do in six months. Only those who saw Trafalgar Square on the night of Gypsy and Ginger’s party know what the spirit of London can do in an hour. The Evening Newsboy spread the rumour of the party with the swiftness and ubiquity of evening news. He had the newsboy’s art of subdividing a single rumour into a flight of swallows. Before midnight every slum in the city knew there was to be a party amongst the fountains of Trafalgar Square. Gypsy and Ginger sat on the floor of the Weatherhouse making staircases of their two-hundred-and-forty pennies, and consulted how to spend them to the best advantage. They had quite forgotten their intention of spending them on railway tickets to Sussex. “Which do you think the children would like best?” asked Gypsy. “Presents or supper?” “Presents _and_ supper,” said Ginger. “It won’t run to both, darling. The guests will come in their thousands.” “But think of a whole pound.” “I know, but all the same,” said Gypsy. He was really the practical one of the two. “If we decided on presents, a lot could be done with beads and marbles.” “If they had supper, we could give them farthing buns,” said Ginger. “For a pound you can get a thousand farthing buns, more or less, I’m never sure which. But if there are thousands of children--.”