“No,” said Mr. Russell, “where do you live?”

“London,” replied Jay.  “I mean my heart doesn’t live in London mostly.  I think it lives very far away in the same sort of place as the place you know without knowing how you know it.  The happy shore of God Knows Where must have a great population of hearts.  To-day I hate London so that I could tear it into pieces like a rag.”

“You ought to start your ’bus on the search for the happy shore,” said Mr. Russell.  “You’d find the track of my tyres before you.  I b’lieve you’d find the place.”

“Well, that would be the only perfect Service,” said Jay.  “But I don’t believe the public would use the route much.  I would go on and on, and leave all old ruts behind.  I would stop for no fares, even the sea should not stop me.  I would go on to the horizon to see if that secret look just after sunset really means that the stars are just over the brink.  Why do people end themselves on a note of despair?  I would choose that way of perpetuating my Perfect Day.  The police would see the top seats of the ’bus sticking out at low tide, and the verdict would be, ’Suicide while of even more than usually unsound mind.’”

A ’bus has an unromantic voice.  The bass is a snarl, and the treble is made up of a shrill rattle.  It was curious how this ’bus managed to retain withal its fantastic atmosphere.

Mr. Russell asked presently, “Why are you a ’bus-conductor?”

“To get some money,” replied the conductor baldly.  “I want to find out what is the attraction of money.  Besides, if one talks such a lot as I do, to do anything—­however small—­saves one from being utterly futile.  When I get to Heaven, the angels won’t be able to say, ’Tush tush, you lived on the charity of God.’  That’s what unearned money is, isn’t it?  And what’s the use of charity?”

“Do you ever get a day off?” asked Mr. Russell.

“Occasionally.”

“Will you meet me on the steps of St. Paul’s next Sunday at ten?”

“No, because I shall be at work next Sunday.”

“Will you meet me the Sunday after that?”

“Yes,” said Jay.  The Family’s theories on the bringing up of girls had evidently been wasted on her.

“What’s the use of looking for this girl?” she asked, after a round of duty.  “Why not leave her on her happy shore?  Do you know, sir, I sympathise enormously with that girl.”

“I don’t expect you would if you knew her,” said Mr. Russell.  “She must be quite different from you, by what I hear from her relations.  I think she must be an aggressive, suffragetty sort of girl.  Girls nowadays seem to find running away from home a sufficient profession.”

“You say that because you are so dreadfully much Older and Wiser,” said Jay.  “Why are you looking for her, then?”

“I’m not,” said Mr. Russell.  “She is just a trespasser.  I’m looking for the place because I know I know it.”