Again there was a particular page-boy in buttons, with a round and perky
behind, who nimbly carried a tea-tray from somewhere to somewhere, under
the arches beside the market. The great brawny porters would tease him,
and he would stop to give them cheek. One afternoon a giant lunged after
him: the boy darted gracefully among the heaps of vegetables, still
bearing aloft his tea-tray, like some young blue-buttoned acolyte
fleeing before a false god. The giant rolled after him--when alas, the
acolyte of the tea-tray slipped among the vegetables, and down came the
tray. Then tears, and a roar of unfeeling mirth from the giants. Lilly
felt they were going to make it up to him.

Another afternoon a young swell sauntered persistently among the
vegetables, and Lilly, seated in his high little balcony, wondered why.
But at last, a taxi, and a very expensive female, in a sort of silver
brocade gown and a great fur shawl and ospreys in her bonnet. Evidently
an assignation. Yet what could be more conspicuous than this elegant
pair, picking their way through the cabbage-leaves?

And then, one cold grey afternoon in early April, a man in a black
overcoat and a bowler hat, walking uncertainly. Lilly had risen and was
just retiring out of the chill, damp air. For some reason he lingered to
watch the figure. The man was walking east. He stepped rather insecurely
off the pavement, and wavered across the setts between the wheels of the
standing vans. And suddenly he went down. Lilly could not see him on the
ground, but he saw some van-men go forward, and he saw one of them pick
up the man's hat.

"I'd better go down," said Lilly to himself.

So he began running down the four long flights of stone stairs, past
the many doors of the multifarious business premises, and out into the
market. A little crowd had gathered, and a large policeman was just
rowing into the centre of the interest. Lilly, always a hoverer on the
edge of public commotions, hung now hesitating on the outskirts of the
crowd.

"What is it?" he said, to a rather sniffy messenger boy.

"Drunk," said the messenger boy: except that, in unblushing cockney, he
pronounced it "Drank."

Lilly hung further back on the edge of the little crowd.

"Come on here. Where d' you want to go?" he heard the hearty tones of
the policeman.

"I'm all right. I'm all right," came the testy drunken answer.

"All right, are yer! All right, and then some,--come on, get on your
pins."