“Ho, they ain’t mine, far from it!” said the policeman, and even as he spoke a voice crashed upon the silence from the direction of Mount Street. The voice belonged to a tall figure in black and white, and on his head was a top-hat that shone under the pallid moon like a monstrous black jewel.
“That there,” said the policeman, “is a Noise.”
“He’s singing,” said Mr. Trevor.
“I’ll teach ’im singing!” said the policeman.
“With an host of furious fancies,
Whereof I am commander,
With a burning spear
And a horse of air
To the wilderness I wander.”
“You will,” said the policeman. “Oh, you will!”
“By a knight of ghosts and shadows
I summoned am to tourney
Ten leagues beyond
The wide world’s end—
Methinks it is no journey!”
“Not to Vine Street, it isn’t,” said the policeman.
“Ho there!” cried the approaching voice. “Who dares interrupt my song!”