fear," he answered. "There's the park guardians, and they'd run you
in for six months."

Times have changed, alas! When I was a youngster I used to read of
homeless boys sleeping in doorways. Already the thing has become a
tradition. As a stock situation it will doubtless linger in literature
for a century to come, but as a cold fact it has ceased to be. Here are
the doorways, and here are the boys, but happy conjunctions are no longer
effected. The doorways remain empty, and the boys keep awake and carry
the banner.

"I was down under the arches," grumbled another young fellow. By
"arches" he meant the shore arches where begin the bridges that span the
Thames. "I was down under the arches wen it was ryning its 'ardest, an'
a bobby comes in an' chyses me out. But I come back, an' 'e come too.
''Ere,' sez 'e, 'wot you doin' 'ere?' An' out I goes, but I sez, 'Think
I want ter pinch [steal] the bleedin' bridge?'"

Among those who carry the banner, Green Park has the reputation of
opening its gates earlier than the other parks, and at quarter-past four
in the morning, I, and many more, entered Green Park. It was raining
again, but they were worn out with the night's walking, and they were
down on the benches and asleep at once. Many of the men stretched out
full length on the dripping wet grass, and, with the rain falling
steadily upon them, were sleeping the sleep of exhaustion.

And now I wish to criticise the powers that be. They _are_ the powers,
therefore they may decree whatever they please; so I make bold only to
criticise the ridiculousness of their decrees. All night long they make
the homeless ones walk up and down. They drive them out of doors and
passages, and lock them out of the parks. The evident intention of all
this is to deprive them of sleep. Well and good, the powers have the
power to deprive them of sleep, or of anything else for that matter; but
why under the sun do they open the gates of the parks at five o'clock in
the morning and let the homeless ones go inside and sleep? If it is
their intention to deprive them of sleep, why do they let them sleep
after five in the morning? And if it is not their intention to deprive
them of sleep, why don't they let them sleep earlier in the night?

In this connection, I will say that I came by Green Park that same day,
at one in the afternoon, and that I counted scores of the ragged wretches
asleep in the grass. It was Sunday afternoon, t