V.
J. We missed you badly at our board last night.
K. The loss was mine. I could not get a cab.
Whistling, as you're aware, is banned by law,
And when I went in person on the quest
The streets were void of taxis.
J. And to what
Do you attribute this unusual dearth?
K. The general rush to Halls of Mirth and Song,
Never so popular. The War goes well,
And London's millions needs must find a way
To vent their exaltation—else they burst.
J. But could you not have travelled by the Tube?
K. I did essay the Tube, but found it stuffed.
The atmosphere was solid as a cheese,
And I was loath to penetrate the crowd
Lest it should shove me from behind upon
The electric rail.
J. Can you account for that?
K. I should ascribe it to the harvest moon,
That wakes romance in Metropolitan breasts,
Drawing our young war-workers out of town
To seek the glamour of the country lanes
Under the silvery beams to lovers dear. O.S.