‘Come, Toastrack, let us shake hands. I’ll find you something new and precious. Something for your collection.’

‘Already have that by the looks of things.’

Another young man came into view, wearing a silk dressing gown, a medal pinned to his chest. This one, unlike the other, was handsome.

‘Well, well, what have we here?’

‘Tumblebum,’ said the one called Toastrack, ‘mine, I reckon.’

‘I’m stuck,’ I said, ‘help me out.’

‘What have we here and what shall we do with it?’ said the handsome one.

‘I said, help me out. I’m stuck!’ I cried.

‘Shouldn’t want to eat it,’ grunted the ugly one.

‘I’m stuck!’ I cried.

‘So it would appear,’ said handsome, ‘and then, my next question would be, do we want to unstick it? Would that be to our advantage?’

‘I’m hurting. This hurts, stuck like this! It bloody hurts!’

‘Couldn’t say,’ said Toastrack, ‘might be diverting.’

‘What’s that on the floor there,’ said his unchained companion. ‘An ashtray, not your ashtray, I’ve seen that before. And what’s that? It’s a tiepin, where did that come from, that’s familiar too. And what’s that? A shoe, a lady’s shoe! That’s not just any shoe, is it? I’d know that shoe anywhere on earth. That’s Bornobby’s that is. But how did it come to be here? Hang on a minute. You’re a thief, aren’t you? A little bloody thief. You’ve stolen all those birth objects. I see that now. Why would you do such a thing? Who are you? Hang on a minute, hang on a bloody minute, you came in here to steal mine too.’

‘No, no, I didn’t.’

‘You came down here to steal my own birth object.’

‘Well,’ said Toastrack, ‘here I am.’

‘Be calm, Toastrack, nobody’s going to take you.’

‘So grateful,’ he moaned, ‘my hero.’

‘He’s your birth object?’ I asked. ‘He is? But he’s a person.’

‘Oh, aren’t we observant?’ Toastrack said.

‘Yes, he’s a man, if you’d call him that,’ said handsome.

‘I’ll thump you!’ said Toastrack.

‘But he didn’t use to be. Did you, Toastrack? He used to be …’

‘A toast rack!’ I said.

‘Well, of course a toast rack! What else!’

‘A toast rack!’ I cried.

‘A silver toast rack,’ Toastrack said. ‘Silver, I was silver.’

‘But how did he, how was it, how did he become a … man?’

‘Never you mind.’

‘We don’t know,’ said Toastrack.

‘Shut it, Toastrack.’

‘Not Toastrack, is it?’ shouted Toastrack. ‘Not actually, not any more Toastrack. I’m Rowland Collis. That’s my name. Rowland Collis. But he’ll never say it. He’ll never call me Rowland. Never say Rowland Collis!’

‘You’re Toastrack, Toastrack. Learn your place.’

‘I shall break things! I’m going to do it! I’m in the mood. I need to break things!’