The recognition of these localities! There is a lump rising in my throat from somewhere. It is something inexplicable. They are there, thank God!
If I could only be alone with it all. With it as it is, and with it as I would people it with ghosts of yesterday. I wish these people weren't in the compartment. I am afraid of my emotions.
The dear old Cut. We are getting into it now. Here we are. There are all conceivable kinds of noises, whistles, etc. Crowds, throngs lined up on the platforms. Here comes a police sergeant looking for a culprit. He looks straight at me. Good Lord! I am going to be arrested! But no, he smiles.
A shout, "There he is!"
Previous to this we had made resolutions. "Don't forget we are all to lock arms, Knoblock, my cousin, Robinson, Geraghty, and myself."
Immediately I get out of the train, however, we somehow get disorganised and our campaign manœuvre is lost. Policemen take me by each arm. There are motion-picture men, still-camera men. I see a sign announcing that motion pictures of my trip on board ship will be shown that night at a picture theatre. That dogged photographer of the boat must have gotten something in spite of me.
I am walking along quite the centre of things. I feel like royalty. I find I am smiling. A regular smile. I distinguish distant faces among those who crowd about me. There are voices at the end of the platform.
"Here he is. He is there, he is. That's him." My step is lightning gay. I am enjoying each moment. I am in Waterloo Station, London.
The policemen are very excited. It is going to be a terrible ordeal for them. Thousands are outside. This also thrills me. Everything is beyond my expectations. I revel in it secretly. They all stop to applaud as I come to the gate. Some of them say:
"Well done, Charlie." I wonder if they mean my present stunt between the bobbies. It is too much for me.