gettin' beyond a joke. There's the City against lights, there's the
streets against darkness, there's the aliens, there's the aliens' shops,
there's the Belgians, there's the British wives, there's the soldiers
against the women, there's the women against the soldiers, there's the
Peace Party, there's 'orses against croolty, there's a Cabinet Minister
every now an' then; and now we've got these Conchies. And, mind you,
they haven't raised our pay; no war wages in the police. So far as I can
see, there's only one good result of the war--the burglaries are off.
But there again, you wait a bit and see if we don't have a prize crop of
'm, or my name's not 'Arris."

"You must have an awfully exciting life!" said Noel.

The policeman looked down at her sideways, without lowering his face, as
only a policeman can, and said indulgently:

"We're used to it, you see; there's no excitement in what you're used to.
They find that in the trenches, I'm told. Take our seamen--there's lots
of 'em been blown up over and over again, and there they go and sign on
again next day. That's where the Germans make their mistake! England in
war-time! I think a lot, you know, on my go; you can't 'elp it--the mind
will work--an' the more I think, the more I see the fightin' spirit in
the people. We don't make a fuss about it like Bill Kaser. But you
watch a little shopman, one o' those fellows who's had his house bombed;
you watch the way he looks at the mess--sort of disgusted. You watch his
face, and you see he's got his teeth into it. You watch one of our
Tommies on 'is crutches, with the sweat pourin' off his forehead an' 'is
eyes all strainy, stumpin' along--that gives you an idea! I pity these
Peace fellows, reely I pity them; they don't know what they're up
against. I expect there's times when you wish you was a man, don't you,
miss? I'm sure there's times when I feel I'd like to go in the trenches.
That's the worst o' my job; you can't be a human bein'--not in the full
sense of the word. You mustn't let your passions rise, you mustn't
drink, you mustn't talk; it's a narrow walk o' life. Well, here you are,
miss; your Square's the next turnin' to the right. Good night and thank
you for your conversation."

Noel held out her hand. "Good night!" she said.

The policeman took her hand with a queer, flattered embarrassment.

"Good night, miss," he said again. "I see you've got a trouble; and I'm
sure I hope it'll turn o