He had lived all his life in
London, save for five years, when, in 1878, he saw foreign service in
India.
Of course he would eat; so would the girl. Days like this were uncommon
hard on such as they, though the coppers were so busy poor folk could get
in more sleep. I awoke the girl, or woman, rather, for she was "Eyght
an' twenty, sir," and we started for a coffee-house.
"Wot a lot o' work puttin' up the lights," said the man at sight of some
building superbly illuminated. This was the keynote of his being. All
his fife he had worked, and the whole objective universe, as well as his
own soul, he could express in terms only of work. "Coronations is some
good," he went on. "They give work to men."
"But your belly is empty," I said.
"Yes," he answered. "I tried, but there wasn't any chawnce. My age is
against me. Wot do you work at? Seafarin' chap, eh? I knew it from yer
clothes."
"I know wot you are," said the girl, "an Eyetalian."
"No 'e ayn't," the man cried heatedly. "'E's a Yank, that's wot 'e is. I
know."
"Lord lumne, look a' that," she exclaimed, as we debauched upon the
Strand, choked with the roaring, reeling Coronation crowd, the men
bellowing and the girls singing in high throaty notes:-
"Oh! on Coronation D'y, on Coronation D'y,
We'll 'ave a spree, a jubilee, an' shout 'Ip, 'ip, 'ooray;
For we'll all be merry, drinkin' whisky, wine, and sherry,
We'll all be merry on Coronation D'y.
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