“Well, sir, the Salvationists have got new banners, ‘Glory’ on one side, and ‘Eternal Fire’ on t’other; and the pop’lace don’t like ’em. Pop’lace very queer and touchy, sir. Never knows what it wants.” “That is a hasty condemnation to pass on those who form the bulwarks of a nation.” “Bulwarks, is it, sir? Not when they’ve got any beer in ’em.” The uproar in the distance grows very loud indeed; some children are alarmed; the nurse who is with them asks the policeman if there is any danger of a riot. He replies cheerfully, “No fear, mum. They’re round Hachilles; the Salvationists are on one side, a rum chap hollering against property on the other. He’s one o’ them Communists, and the pop’lace don’t cotton to them ideas; pop’lace likes gentlefolks. Lord! see ’em run to stare at the carriages o’ Drawing Room days!” “What is the use,” thinks Bertram, “of trying to save sheep who carry their own fleeces obstinately to the shearers?” “This is the impression,” he asks of the policeman, “which years on the London pavement gives you of the London populace?” Policeman answers, drily, “Yessir. All the force’ll tell ye the same. London populace likes the nobs. Some on ’em yell a lot o’ revolutionary nonsense when they gets in Trafalgar Square, but, Lord bless ye, they don’t mean it.” “They will mean it one day.” “Well, sir, if they ever run short o’ liquor, on account of them total habstainers, they will.” “What a view of the sovereign people!” says Bertram, “who in the _Age to Come_ advocates voluntary total abstinence.” “Sovereign, is it, sir? Ever seen ’em o’ Derby Day, sir?” “Yes,” replies Bertram, curtly. He perceives that the constable is a satirist. In sight at that moment appears a struggling form being violently propelled by two officers of the law, and followed by some yelling roughs and capering boys. Bertram cannot believe his senses. “Good gracious! That is Hopper!” he says to the satirical policeman at his side. “What are they doing to him? Why is he arrested?” Policeman replies politely, but with slightly veiled contempt: “Seem to be running him in, sir. Is he a protegy of yours?” Bertram goes up to the prisoner: “Why, Hopper, is that you? What has he done? Why do you collar him like that?” The constables, who are dragging Hopper between them, reply with curt contempt: “Disorderly; drunk and disorderly, that’s what he is, sir, and incitin’ to crime.” “Drunk?” repeats Bertram. “Hopper? Impossible! He has touched nothing but lemonade and mineral water for three years!” “Is that so, sir? Well, there’s an excuse for him, then, poor devil!”