I think the air of the town must have got into Dennison's head, for I had not walked far before I was in more than my usual state of rage with him. He ordered us about most abominably, and seemed to think that I was sure to lose my way unless I kept close to him. As a matter of fact, neither Fred nor I knew London well, but I resented being treated like an infant, and if Dennison only looked after us out of kindness, I did not see why he should do it at the top of his voice. I had an inexplicable feeling that it was the duty of every one to know something about London, and although I should not have recognized Piccadilly Circus when I saw it, I was quite prepared to put that down to the fog; for if Dennison had not taken so much for granted, I should never willingly have given myself away to him.
When we reached the Parma I was very thirsty, but there were so many people in the place that it was impossible to get near the bar. We were jolted about by men who, having nothing else to say, shouted "Good old Cambridge!" and "Now then, Oxford!" The pandemonium was deafening, and Jack said to me that the whole thing wasn't good enough, and unless you happened to feel like shoving into people and then pretending that you were very sorry he was quite right.
A man standing on the steps at the top of the room began to make a speech until somebody shoved him down, and his top-hat, having been knocked off, was kicked about by everybody who could get near it. Men whom I never remembered having seen before, shook me warmly by the hand and treated me as if I was their greatest friend, but none of them could get me anything to drink. This scene was subsequently described as disgraceful, but it was really very dull, and after a few more minutes spent in trying to make my voice heard in the noise, the lights were turned out. The word "Johnnys" ran round the place, and there was a big rush for the door leading into Piccadilly Circus. Fortunately I got out at once, and I found myself marching clown Piccadilly in the second row of a procession. Foster was next to me, though how he got there I cannot conceive, and Ward and Dennison were in the front row. We sang as we walked, and people cleared out of our way. I heard one man who met us say "Poor fools!" and the fellow who was with him answered "We did that kind of thing years ago, didn't we?" Outside The St. John's we came to a dead stop, and the men in front of me began arguing with an enormous man who stood at the entrance.
"No one else is to be admitted to-night," I heard the giant say.
"But it is not closing time," some one answered.
"These are my orders, gentlemen," he said, and it was really rather nice of him to address us as he did.
Ward did not say a word, but tried quite amicably to get past the giant. It was a kind of Goliath and David business anyhow, but whatever chance Ward had of getting into the restaurant ended abruptly; a bevy of policemen who seemed to drop out of the skies simply pounced upon him, and if he had been guilty of some real crime he could not have been treated more severely. It was my first experience of policemen, and unless some one had very kindly caught hold of me, my first impulse was to go for the men who had seized Ward.
"You had better keep quiet, or you will be taken to the station as well," one policeman said to me, but I went on talking until some one I did not know touched me on the arm.
"Was the man they collared a friend of yours?" he asked.
"Yes, and it is a most wretched swindle," I said.