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Updated: May 8, 2025
Zanti clapped him on the shoulder. "There is no need for you to say now. On ze Wednesday in Easter week I go before then you will tell me. We shall get on together, I know it. If you will 'ave a leetle more of ze Humour you will be a very pleasant boy and useful Ho, yes!" To Peter then the shop was not visible a mist hung about his eyes. "Much time for your stories"... said Mr.
She came forward fiercely as though she would have answered Peter, but Mr. Zanti motioned her back with his hand. "No, no," he said almost imploringly, "let the boy be what has he to do with all this? Leave him. He has nothing to do with it. He knows nothing." "But I ought to know," Peter burst in. "Why have I been kept in the dark all this time? What right have you " He broke off suddenly.
Then he bent even closer, still holding Peter's hand: "Do you know one thing?" he whispered. "No," replied Peter, husky with awe. "It is this, that when you think of Mr. Zanti and of London and of adventures, you will look in a looking-glass any looking-glass, and you will see what you will see," and he nodded all over his fat face.
The day we left Cornwall, you and I the fog when we got to London ... everything." He drew a great breath and stood in the middle of the room listening to the rain racing down the pipes beyond the dark windows. Mr. Zanti, getting up ponderously, placed his hands on Peter's shoulders. "Still the same Peter," he said. "Now I know zat I go 'appy.
"Ah, it is early days," said Mr. Zanti, nodding his head, "there is much time, of course. But what is the thing that our little friend would care, most of all, to do?" "To go to school," said Peter, without any hesitation, and both Zachary and Mr. Zanti laughed a great deal more than was in the least necessary. "And then afterwards?" said Mr. Zanti.
Galleon, one for Stephen, one for Miss Monogue, one for Mrs. Brockett and one for Mr. Zanti. "Reuben Hallard and His Adventures," by Peter Westcott. They would be getting it now at the newspaper offices. The Mascot would have a copy and the fat little chocolate consumer. It would stand with a heap of others, and be ticked off with a heap of others, for some youth to exercise his wit upon.
With that word muttered, his head hanging, his cheeks flushing, as though it were something of which he was most mightily ashamed, he knew what it was he had been wanting all these months. The desire had been there, the impulse had been there ... now with the spoken word the blind faltering impulse was changed into definite certainty. Mr. Zanti thought it a tremendous joke.
Some distant cry would climb into the silence and draw from it other cries set like notes of music to tumble back into a common scheme together. "Steve, tell me about Zanti. Is he really a scoundrel?" "A scoundrel? No, poor feller. Why, Mr. Peter, you ought to know better than that. 'E ain't got a spark of malice in him but 'e's always after adventure.
Stephen, so grave, so solemn, had caught the baby into the air, had flung him up and caught him again. Peter and Mr. Zanti looking up from the floor saw him standing, his legs wide, his beard flowing, his arms stretched with young Stephen shouting between them. Behind him, around him was a wrecked nursery.... The baby, surveying the world from this sudden height, wondered at this amazing glory.
Herr Gottfried was at his desk, Mr. Zanti at the street door, the girl at the door of the inner room, they were all motionless. Beyond the shop the murmur of the gathering crowd was like the confused, blundering hum of bees; a band was playing stridently in Oxford Street. Once Peter said: "It passes about three-thirty, doesn't it? I think I'll just go out and have a look later.
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