Pennyloaf's misery is
relieved by the beginning of the fireworks. Up shoot the rockets,
and all the reeking multitude utters a huge 'Oh' of idiot
admiration.
Now at length must we think of tearing ourselves away from these
delights. Already the more prudent people are hurrying to the
railway, knowing by dire experience what it means to linger until
the last cargoes. Pennyloaf has hard work to get her husband as far
as the station; Bob is not quite steady upon his feet, and the
hustling of the crowd perpetually excites him to bellicose
challenges. They reach the platform somehow; they stand wedged amid
a throng which roars persistently as a substitute for the activity
of limb Row become impossible. A train is drawing up slowly; the
danger is lest people in the front row should be pushed over the
edge of the platform, but porters exert themselves with success. A
rush, a tumble, curses, blows, laughter, screams of pain--and we
are in a carriage. Pennyloaf has to be dragged up from under the
seat, and all her indignation cannot free her from the jovial
embrace of a man who insists that there is plenty of room on his
knee. Off we go! It is a long third-class coach, and already five or
six musical instruments have struck up.
Pages:
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235