" And he was off again, a decrepit
vagabond, with his hands in his pockets, his elbows squared, and
frayed coat-tails swinging raggedly from side to side.
I followed him to the Finchley Road. There he took an Atlas
omnibus, and I sat some rows behind him on the top, but not far
enough to escape the pest of his vile tobacco. That he could
carry his character-sketch to such a pitch--he who would only
smoke one brand of cigarette! It was the last, least touch of
the insatiable artist, and it charmed away what mortification
there still remained in me. Once more I felt the fascination of a
comrade who was forever dazzling one with a fresh and unsuspected
facet of his character.
As we neared Piccadilly I wondered what he would do. Surely he
was not going into the Albany like that? No, he took another
omnibus to Sloane Street, I sitting behind him as before. At
Sloane Street we changed again, and were presently in the long
lean artery of the King's Road. I was now all agog to know our
destination, nor was I kept many more minutes in doubt. Raffles
got down. I followed. He crossed the road and disappeared up a
dark turning. I pressed after him, and was in time to see his
coat-tails as he plunged into a still darker flagged alley to the
right. He was holding himself up and stepping out like a young
man once more; also, in some subtle way, he already looked less
disreputable.
Pages:
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60