I
INTRODUCTORY
I was a beautiful evening in the month of May.
The stars were shining.
The beautiful moon looked beautifully forth from her beautiful throne.
A nightingale greeted her with a beautiful sonnet. England—our England—bore upon her bosom the beautiful perfume of woodruff and the wild clover. In Bovingdon Street, London, E., a lover was kicking his sweetheart.
That was the beginning of this book. I happened to be standing at Mr. Wilson's coffee stall. And I heard the screaming. And I saw some shadows moving briskly, like the funny silhouettes on the blind at a pantomime. And some of us laughed and some of us whined and one of us blew a whistle. And the constabulary arrived, and with their coming the tumult died. And they brought the girl to the light of the stall, and her face was bruised and swollen and she lost her voice. But before doing so she was able to assure us that "'E done it in drink." "'E" was removed under escort.
They did not take her to a hospital, because there was a round little man at the stall who prevented them from doing so. "Lemme alone," the lady had remarked, upon regaining speech. "Don't you worry me. I'm all right, I am. I got my doctor 'ere: this genelman in the top 'at. Ain't that right, sir? You are my doctor, ain't you?"
"That is so," said the round little man, "I'm her doctor. Shift your dam carcases and give the woman some air."
"There you are," gasped the woman, "what did I tell you? He is my doctor. I got 'is confinement card in me pocket this minute."