You see ugly things in London now-a-days. Oh, yes, but you see beautiful
things as well. I saw one yesterday--one of the beautiful things.
It was a cold wet evening, not actually raining but very, very nearly. I
stood at the place in Piccadilly where the 'buses stop. There was quite
a little crowd waiting, as there always is at this time of day--women
with parcels, work-girls going home, a few men. All of them looked
tired, and many of them looked cross.
When a 'bus drew up at the curb all those people made a simultaneous
plunge for it. Before it had finally stopped they were clinging like a
swarm of bees to the steps and rails. It is an arduous game this
'bus-catching, though for those who are young and strong it should
perhaps have a certain attraction, combining as it does the allurement
of a lottery gamble with the charm of a football scrimmage.
There were only three vacant places, and these, after a desperate
struggle, were secured by two athletic-looking girls and a red-haired
schoolboy. The conductor waved back the disappointed boarders and they
dropped off sulkily. I watched them a moment and then my eyes toward two
soldiers, who were crossing the street. Fine, well-set-up men they were,
and they carried themselves with the indescribable air of those who have
crossed swords with Death and left their opponent, for the time at
least, defeated. One of them had a green shade over his left eye. The
other carried a stick and walked with a slight limp.
They took up their position a little to the side of the expectant crowd
that was already beginning to sway and jostle at the sight of a fresh
'bus, which had just rounded the corner. Small chance for the
new-comers, however slightly wounded, in such a _mêlée_, thought I.
The 'bus came rocking along, reeled to the left, staggered to the right,
and came uncertainly to a shuddering rest beside the pavement.
And then it was that I saw the Beautiful Thing.
For of that little crowd, some twenty people in all, not a soul moved.
Not a man, woman or child took so much as a step forward. They looked at
the half-filled 'bus, they looked at the two soldiers, and waited,
motionless.
Those two had pressed forward briskly enough, but as they mounted the
steps, the man with the green shade giving a helping hand to his
companion, the attitude of the crowd seemed suddenly to strike them. The
lame man glanced over his shoulder, smiled and murmured something to his
friend. His friend turned likewise and stared. He pushed his comrade
through the doorway, turned again, and very solemnly raised his hand to
his cap in salute. A second later he too vanished within the interior of
the 'bus.
And then the rush began.
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