So I could not understand the whole thing; not a
bit of it.
I slouched on, and dwelt upon all this, and there was not as much as a
spark of bitterness or malice or envy in my mind.
I halted at a paint-shop and gazed into the window. I tried to read the
labels on a couple of the tins, but it was too dark. Vexed with myself
over this new whim, and excited--almost angry at not being able to make
out what these tins held,--I rapped twice sharply on the window and went
on.
Up the street I saw a policeman. I quickened my pace, went close up to
him, and said, without the slightest provocation, "It is ten o'clock."
"No, it's two," he answered, amazed.
"No, it's ten," I persisted; "it is ten o'clock!" and, groaning with
anger, I stepped yet a pace or two nearer, clenched my fist, and said,
"Listen, do you know what, it's ten o'clock!"
He stood and considered a while, summed up my appearance, stared aghast at
me, and at last said, quite gently, "In any case, it's about time ye were
getting home. Would ye like me to go with ye a bit?"
I was completely disarmed by this man's unexpected friendliness. I felt
that tears sprang to my eyes, and I hastened to reply:
"No, thank you! I have only been out a little too late in a cafe. Thank
you very much all the same!"
He saluted with his hand to his helmet as I turned away. His friendliness
had overwhelmed me, and I cried weakly, because I had not even a little
coin to give him.
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