titles. Umpty-iddy-umpty-iddy. Not that it was much like that at first; he couldn't get the rhythm of it.... Umpt-y-iddy-umpt-y-iddy. That was better. He was back at Samuel Taylor Coleridge now. Antony would begin to hear him soon. Umpt-y-iddy-umpt-y-iddy; just the aimless tapping of a man who is wondering what book he will take out with him to read on the lawn. Would Antony hear? One always heard the man in the next flat knocking out his pipe. Would Antony understand? Umpt-y-iddy-umpt-y-iddy. C. for Cayley, Antony. Cayley's here. For God's sake, wait.
"Good Lord! Sermons!" said Bill, with a loud laugh. (Umpt-y-iddy-umpt-y-iddy) "Ever read 'em, Cayley?"
"What?" Cayley looked up suddenly. Bill's back moved slowly along, his fingers beating a tattoo on the shelves as he walked.
"Er no," said Cayley, with a little laugh. An awkward, uncomfortable little laugh, it seemed to Bill.
"Nor do I." He was past the sermons now past the secret door but still tapping in the same aimless way.
"Oh, for God's sake sit down," burst out Cayley. "Or go outside if you want to walk about."
Bill turned round in astonishment.
"Hallo, what's the matter?"
Cayley was slightly ashamed of his outburst.
