he Writer restrained the sailor's more or less ineffectual efforts to
get at the Lord Mayor, but the Writer found it singularly impossible to
control the shouted execrations of that abusive mariner, among a few of
whose remarks could be mentioned, by way of sample, that he wanted to
know why an old bloke dressed like an etcetera Mephistopheles meant by
coming along from a blighted Covent Garden Ball and interfering with
him; that if he, the mariner, could once get at
the--ahem!--Mephistopheles in question, he would never go to a fancy
ball again as long as he lived, as he would not have a head to go with,
and his legs wouldn't ever be any use to him again as long as he lived.

The Writer being sufficiently athletically active to control, or at any
rate postpone, these amiable intentions of the mariner, the Lord Mayor
was afforded a few brief seconds to climb up and examine his favourite.
Flinging the wreath of water-lilies around the Lion's mane to get it
out of the way, the Lord Mayor clasped his old favourite Lal round the
neck, uttering words of consolation and affection.

The Lion's eyes had changed from their bright emerald colour to a dull
topaz yellow, which in turn subsided to their wonted colouring during
the Lord Mayor's affectionate address.

The countenance of the Lion gradually resumed its ordinary
pleasant-faced expression, and two large tears fell upon the Lord
Mayor's outstretched hands.

The worthy Lord Mayor was quite overcome with emotion at this obvious
sign from the Pleasant-Faced Lion!

"Dear old Lal," murmured the Lord Mayor, "dear, faithful, loving soul,
these are the first tears I have ever known you shed. Are they tears
of gratitude because we have rescued you from this ruffian with a
knife, who would have destroyed your noble sight? Or are they tears of
pity? Speak to me, Lal; if they are tears of pity, they will open the
gates of----"

"A police station," interrupted a cold, judicial voice, and the good
Lord Mayor turned to find what the Writer, although fully occupied with
the mariner, had seen approaching with consternation and alarm, the
same policeman who had spoken to them before, followed by a small crowd
of late night loafers, who were already starting to exchange remarks
and jeer at the somewhat unusual scene.

"Just you come down," said the constable, in his severest and most
judicial tones.

The Lord Mayor prepared to climb down, looking somewhat crestfallen,
whilst the