Here again I made a mistake. No man likes being told his duty, whether owing to the natural human aversion from thinking of it or doing it, or for other reasons connected with pride I know not; but the constable, upon this speech of mine, displayed annoyance, and even some idea of leaving me to my own devices. Seeing that he showed an inclination to let me escape into the fog without even a word of advice, I spurred him to his office. I said:—
“If you don’t arrest me, I shall persuade some other member of the force to do so, and, as I have already made a note of your number, it will be the worse for you.”
Upon this he started as if a serpent had stung him; the crowd cheered me, and my object was attained. He felt his popularity was slipping away, and so set about regaining it.
“All right, all right, my bold ’ero!” he said. Then he blew a whistle, and summoned two colleagues.
“Dangerous lunatic—wants to be took up,” he explained. “Clean off his chump. Tryin’ to ’ang ’imself.”
Then he turned to me, and adopted a conciliatory tone.
“Now, then, uncle, come along quiet,” he said.
I suggested a cab, and offered to pay for it, but the constable held such a thing unnecessary extravagance.
“Won’t hurt you to walk,” he said. “And we’ll go quicker than a four-wheeler in this fog.”
So, with a large accompaniment of those who win entertainment from the misfortunes of their betters, I started to some sheltering haven, where it was my hope that the remainder of the day might be spent in security and seclusion behind bolts and bars. In this desire lurked no taste of shame or humiliation. I was far past anything of that kind. My sole unuttered prayer was to be saved from all further human counsel whatsoever. If an angel from heaven had fluttered down beside me, and uttered celestial opinions to brighten that dark hour, I should have rejected his advice, very likely with rudeness.