The guests of the Grand Babylon saw merely a restless male person, whose restlessness was rather a disturber of their quietude, but with whom, to judge by his countenance, it would be inadvisable to remonstrate. Therefore Theodore Racksole continued his perambulations unchallenged, and kept saying to himself, ‘I must do something.’ But what? He could think of no course to pursue. At last he walked straight through the hotel and out at the other entrance, and so up the little unassuming side street into the roaring torrent of the narrow and crowded Strand. He jumped on a Putney bus, and paid his fair to Putney, fivepence, and then, finding that the humble occupants of the vehicle stared at the spectacle of a man in evening dress but without a dustcoat, he jumped off again, oblivious of the fact that the conductor jerked a thumb towards him and winked at the passengers as who should say, ‘There goes a lunatic.’ He went into a tobacconist’s shop and asked for a cigar. The shopman mildly inquired what price. ‘What are the best you’ve got?’ asked Theodore Racksole. ‘Five shillings each, sir,’ said the man promptly. ‘Give me a penny one,’ was Theodore Racksole’s laconic request, and he walked out of the shop smoking the penny cigar. It was a new sensation for him. He was inhaling the aromatic odours of Eugène Rimmel’s establishment for the sale of scents when a gentleman, walking slowly in the opposite direction, accosted him with a quiet, ‘Good evening, Mr Racksole.’ The millionaire did not at first recognize his interlocutor, who wore a travelling overcoat, and was carrying a handbag. Then a slight, pleased smile passed over his features, and he held out his hand. ‘Well, Mr Babylon,’ he greeted the other, ‘of all persons in the wide world you are the man I would most have wished to meet.’ ‘You flatter me,’ said the little Anglicized Swiss. ‘No, I don’t,’ answered Racksole; ‘it isn’t my custom, any more than it’s yours. I wanted to have a real good long yarn with you, and lo! here you are! Where have you sprung from?’ ‘From Lausanne,’ said Felix Babylon. ‘I had finished my duties there, I had nothing else to do, and I felt homesick. I felt the nostalgia of London, and so I came over, just as you see,’ and he raised the handbag for Racksole’s notice. ‘One toothbrush, one razor, two slippers, eh?’ He laughed. ‘I was wondering as I walked along where I should stay--me, Felix Babylon, homeless in London.’ ‘I should advise you to stay at the Grand Babylon,’ Racksole laughed back. ‘It is a good hotel, and I know the proprietor personally.’ ‘Rather expensive, is it not?’ said Babylon. ‘To you, sir,’ answered Racksole, ‘the inclusive terms will be exactly half a crown a week. Do you accept?’ ‘I accept,’ said Babylon, and added, ‘You are very good, Mr Racksole.’ They strolled together back to the hotel, saying nothing in particular, but feeling very content with each other’s company. ‘Many customers?’ asked Felix Babylon.