ve yer
Sharing Cross. Don't make a fuss about it."

"That's the third time 'ee's arst me not to forget 'im," he remarked to
me in a stentorian aside; "'ee don't giv' yer much chance of doin' it,
does 'ee?"

At the corner of the Holloway Road we drew up, and our conductor began
to shout after the manner of his species: "Charing Cross--Charing
Cross--'ere yer are--Come along, lady--Charing Cross."

The little Frenchman jumped up, and prepared to exit; the conductor
pushed him back.

"Sit down and don't be silly," he said; "this ain't Charing Cross."

The Frenchman looked puzzled, but collapsed meekly. We picked up a few
passengers, and proceeded on our way. Half a mile up the Liverpool Road
a lady stood on the kerb regarding us as we passed with that pathetic
mingling of desire and distrust which is the average woman's attitude
towards conveyances of all kinds. Our conductor stopped.

"Where d'yer want to go to?" he asked her severely--omnibus conductors
have a manner of addressing all pedestrians as though they were lost
children or suspicious loiterers--"Strand--Charing Cross?"

[Illustration: "THE CONDUCTOR COLLARED HIM."]

The Frenchman did not hear or did not understand the first part of the
speech, but he caught the words "Charing Cross," and bounced up and out
on to the step. The conductor collared him as he was getting off, and
jerked him back savagely.

"Carnt yer keep still a minute," he cried indignantly; "blessed if you
don't want lookin' after like a bloomin' kid."

"I vont to be put down at Sharing Cross," answered the little Frenchman,
humbly.

"You vont to be put down at Sharing Cross," repeated the other bitterly,
as he led him back to his seat. "I shall put yer down in the middle of
the road if I 'ave much more of yer. You stop there till I come and
sling yer out. I ain't likely to let yer go much past yer Sharing Cross,
I shall be too jolly glad to get rid o' yer."

The poor Frenchman subsided, and we jolted on. At "The Angel" we, of
course, stopped. "Charing Cross," shouted the conductor, and up sprang
the Frenchman.

"Oh, my Gawd," said the conductor, taking him by the shoulders and
forcing him down into the corner seat, "wot am I to do? Carnt somebody
sit on 'im?"

[Illustration: "'BLESSED IF I DIDN'T RUN HIM ON TO VICTORIA.'"]

He held him firmly down until the 'bus started, and then released him.
At the top of Chancery Lane the same scene took place, and the poor
little Frenchma