'Come, this is better,'
thought the lawyer to himself, and he walked on eastward, lending a
pleased ear to the wheels and the million footfalls of the city.
Near the end of the King's Road he remembered his brandy and soda, and
entered a flaunting public-house. A good many persons were present, a
waterman from a cab-stand, half a dozen of the chronically unemployed, a
gentleman (in one corner) trying to sell aesthetic photographs out of
a leather case to another and very youthful gentleman with a yellow
goatee, and a pair of lovers debating some fine shade (in the other).
But the centre-piece and great attraction was a little old man, in a
black, ready-made surtout, which was obviously a recent purchase. On
the marble table in front of him, beside a sandwich and a glass of
beer, there lay a battered forage cap. His hand fluttered abroad with
oratorical gestures; his voice, naturally shrill, was plainly tuned to
the pitch of the lecture room; and by arts, comparable to those of
the Ancient Mariner, he was now holding spellbound the barmaid, the
waterman, and four of the unemployed.
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