I raised one or two difficulties, and for a while we played with this
idea.

"Ewart," I said, "this is like Doll's Island.

"Suppose," I reflected, "an unsuccessful man laid siege to a balcony and
wouldn't let his rival come near it?"

"Move him on," said Ewart, "by a special regulation. As one does
organ-grinders. No difficulty about that. And you could forbid it--make
it against the etiquette. No life is decent without etiquette.... And
people obey etiquette sooner than laws..."

"H'm," I said, and was struck by an idea that is remote in the world of
a young man. "How about children?" I asked; "in the City? Girls are all
very well. But boys, for example--grow up."

"Ah!" said Ewart. "Yes. I forgot. They mustn't grow up inside.... They'd
turn out the boys when they were seven. The father must come with a
little pony and a little gun and manly wear, and take the boy away. Then
one could come afterwards to one's mother's balcony.... It must be fine
to have a mother. The father and the son..."

"This is all very pretty in its way," I said at last, "but it's a dream.
Let's come back to reality. What I want to know is, what are you going
to do in Brompton, let us say, or Walham Green NOW?"

"Oh! damn it!" he remarked, "Walham Green! What a chap you are,
Ponderevo!" and he made an abrupt end to his discourse. He wouldn't even
reply to my tentatives for a time.