this, that the
Vicar of Chuntsey must pretend to be mad or drunk? It had come to this.

"I walked along with the rest up the deserted road, imitating and
keeping pace, as far as I could, with their rapid and yet lady-like
step, until at length I saw a lamp-post and a policeman standing under
it. I had made up my mind. Until we reached them we were all equally
demure and silent and swift. When we reached them I suddenly flung
myself against the railings and roared out: 'Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!
Rule Britannia! Get your 'air cut. Hoop-la! Boo!' It was a condition of
no little novelty for a man in my position.

"The constable instantly flashed his lantern on me, or the draggled,
drunken old woman that was my travesty. 'Now then, mum,' he began
gruffly.

"'Come along quiet, or I'll eat your heart,' cried Sam in my ear
hoarsely. 'Stop, or I'll flay you.' It was frightful to hear the words
and see the neatly shawled old spinster who whispered them.

"I yelled, and yelled--I was in for it now. I screamed comic refrains
that vulgar young men had sung, to my regret, at our village concerts; I
rolled to and fro like a ninepin about to fall.

"'If you can't get your friend on quiet, ladies,' said the policeman, 'I
shall have to take 'er up. Drunk and disorderly she is right enough.'

"I redoubled my efforts. I had not been brought up to this sort of
thing; but I believe I eclipsed myself. Words that I did not know I had
ever heard of seemed to come pouring out of my open mouth.

"'When we get you past,' whispered Bill, 'you'll howl louder; you'll
howl louder when we're burning your feet off.'

"I screamed in my terror those awful songs of joy. In all the nightmares
that men have ever dreamed, there has never been anything so blighting
and horrible as the faces of those five men, looking out of their
poke-bonnets; the figures of district visitors with the faces of devils.
I cannot think there is anything so heart-breaking in hell.

"For a sickening instant I thought that the bustle of my companions
and the perfect respectability of all our dresses would overcome the
policeman and induce him to let us pass. He wavered, so far as one
can describe anything so solid as a policeman as wavering. I lurched
suddenly forward and ran my head into his chest, calling out (if I
remember correctly), 'Oh, crikey, blimey, Bill.' It was at that moment
that I remembered most dearly that I was the Vicar of Chuntsey, in
Essex.

"My desperat