As we walked through
the streets, we fell in with a great crowd, and then I remembered that
some royal visitors were to proceed in great state to the Mansion House.
I proposed to Barber that we should go and look at the procession, and
he agreed more readily than I expected.
In fact, after a while, the crowd, and the rumor, and stirring of troops
as they fell into position, evidently wrought on him to a remarkable
degree. He began to talk loud and rather haughtily, to study his
gestures; there was infinite superiority and disdain in the looks he
cast on the people. He attracted the attention and, I thought, the
derision of those close to us, and I became rather ashamed and impatient
of those ridiculous airs. Yet I could not help feeling sorry for him.
The poor creature evidently suffered from megalomania--that was the only
way to account for his pretentious notions of his own importance, seeing
that he was just a needy little clerk out of work.--
The place from which we were watching the procession was a corner of
Piccadilly Circus. The street lay before our eyes bleached in the sun,
wide and empty, looking about three times as large as usual, bordered
with a line of soldiers and mounted police, and the black crowd massed
behind. In a few minutes the procession of princes would sweep by.
Pages:
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511