A messenger boy, two shabby men engaged in non-essential industries, and a shop girl paused to observe the scene. Time was not of the essence to these confirmed sightseers. The shop girl was late already, so it didn't matter if she was any later; the messenger boy had nothing on hand except a message marked "Important: Rush"; and as for the two shabby men, their only immediate plans consisted of a vague intention of getting to some public house and leaning against the wall; so George's time was their time. One of the pair put his head on one side and said: "What ho!"; the other picked up a cigar stub from the gutter and began to smoke."A young lady just got into your cab," said the stout young man.
"Surely not?" said George.
"What the devil do you mean--surely not?"
"I've been in the cab all the time, and I should have noticed it."
At this juncture the block in the traffic was relieved, and the cab bowled smartly on for some fifty yards when it was again halted. George, protruding from the window like a snail, was entertained by the spectacle of the pursuit. The hunt was up. Short of throwing his head up and baying, the stout young man behaved exactly as a bloodhound in similar circumstances would have conducted itself. He broke into a jerky gallop, attended by his self-appointed associates; and, considering that the young man was so stout, that the messenger boy considered it unprofessional to hurry, that the shop girl had doubts as to whether sprinting was quite ladylike, and that the two Bohemians were moving at a quicker gait than a shuffle for the first occasion in eleven years, the cavalcade made good time. The cab was still stationary when they arrived in a body.
"Here he is, guv'nor," said the messenger boy, removing a bead of perspiration with the rush message. "Here he is, guv'nor," said the non-smoking Bohemian. "What oh!"
"Here I am!" agreed George affably. "And what can I do for you?"
The smoker spat appreciatively at a passing dog. The point seemed to him well taken. Not for many a day had he so enjoyed himself. In an arid world containing too few goes of gin and too many policemen, a world in which the poor were oppressed and could seldom even enjoy a quiet cigar without having their fingers trodden upon, he found himself for the moment contented, happy, and expectant. This looked like a row between toffs, and of all things which most intrigued him a row between toffs ranked highest.
"R!" he said approvingly. "Now you're torkin'!"
The shop girl had espied an acquaintance in the crowd. She gave tongue.
"Mordee! Cummere! Cummere quick! Sumfin' hap'nin'!" Maudie, accompanied by perhaps a dozen more of London's millions,
added herself to the audience. These all belonged to the class which will gather round and watch silently while a motorist mends
a tyre. They are not impatient. They do not call for rapid and continuous action. A mere hole in the ground, which of all sights is
perhaps the least vivid and dramatic, is enough to grip their attention for hours at a time. They stared at George and George's cab
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with unblinking gaze. They did not know what would happen or when it would happen, but they intended to wait till something did happen. It might be for years or it might be for ever, but they meant to be there when things began to occur.
Speculations became audible.
"Wot is it? 'Naccident?"
"Nah! Gent 'ad 'is pocket picked!" "Two toffs 'ad a scrap!"
"Feller bilked the cabman!"
A sceptic made a cynical suggestion. "They're doin' of it for the pictures." The idea gained instant popularity. "Jear that? It's a fillum!"
"Wot o', Charlie!"
"The kemerer's 'idden in the keb." "Wot'll they be up to next!"
A red-nosed spectator with a tray of collar-studs harnessed to his stomach started another school of thought. He spoke with decision as one having authority.
"Nothin' of the blinkin' kind! The fat 'un's bin 'avin' one or two around the corner, and it's gorn and got into 'is 'ead!"
The driver of the cab, who till now had been ostentatiously unaware that there was any sort of disturbance among the lower orders, suddenly became humanly inquisitive.
"What's it all about?" he asked, swinging around and addressing
George's head.
"Exactly what I want to know," said George. He indicated the collar-stud merchant. "The gentleman over there with the portable
Woolworth-bargain-counter seems to me to have the best theory."
The stout young man, whose peculiar behaviour had drawn all this flattering attention from the many-headed and who appeared considerably ruffled by the publicity, had been puffing noisily during the foregoing conversation. Now, having recovered sufficient breath to resume the attack, he addressed himself to George once more.
"Damn you, sir, will you let me look inside that cab?"
"Leave me," said George, "I would be alone."
"There is a young lady in that cab. I saw her get in, and I have been watching ever since, and she has not got out, so she is there now."
George nodded approval of this close reasoning.
"Your argument seems to be without a flaw. But what then? We applaud the Man of Logic, but what of the Man of Action? What are you going to do about it?"
"Get out of my way!"
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"I won't."
"Then I'll force my way in!"
"If you try it, I shall infallibly bust you one on the jaw." The stout young man drew back a pace.
"You can't do that sort of thing, you know."
"I know I can't," said George, "but I shall. In this life, my dear sir, we must be prepared for every emergency. We must distinguish between the unusual and the impossible. It would be unusual for a comparative stranger to lean out of a cab window and sock you one, but you appear to have laid your plans on the assumption that it would be impossible. Let this be a lesson to you!"
"I tell you what it is--"
"The advice I give to every young man starting life is 'Never confuse the unusual with the impossible!' Take the present case, for instance. If you had only realized the possibility of somebody some day busting you on the jaw when you tried to get into a cab, you might have thought out dozens of crafty schemes for dealing with the matter. As it is, you are unprepared. The thing comes on you as a surprise. The whisper flies around the clubs: 'Poor old What's-his-name has been taken unawares. He cannot cope with the situation!'"
The man with the collar-studs made another diagnosis. He was seeing clearer and clearer into the thing every minute.
"Looney!" he decided. "This 'ere one's bin moppin' of it up, and the one in the keb's orf 'is bloomin' onion. That's why 'e 's standin'
up instead of settin'. 'E won't set down 'cept you bring 'im a bit o' toast, 'cos he thinks 'e 's a poached egg."
