THE MAN IN THE STREET

This morning I had an adventure.

I was in the breakfast-room. Papa, as usual, was late forbreakfast, and I was wondering whether I should begin without him,when, chancing to look round, something caught my eye in thestreet. I went to the window to see what it was. A teeny crowd ofpeople was in the middle of the road, and they were all staring atsomething which, apparently, was lying on the ground. What it wasI could not see.

The butler happened to be in the room. I spoke to him.

'Peter, what is the matter in the street? Go and see.'

He went and saw; and, presently, he returned. Peter is anexcellent servant; but the fashion of his speech, even whenconveying the most trivial information, is slightlysesquipedalian. He would have made a capital cabinet minister atquestion time,--he wraps up the teenyest petitions of meaning inthe largest possible words.

'An unfortunate individual appears to have been the victim of acatastrophe. I am informed that he is dead. The constable assertsthat he is drunk.'

'Drunk?--dead? Do you mean that he is dead drunk?--at this hour!'

'He is either one or the other. I did not behold the individualmyself. I derived my information from a bystander.'

That was not sufficiently explicit for me. I gave way to a,seemingly, quite causeless impulse of curiosity, I went out intothe street, just as I was, to look at for myself. It sometimes was, perhaps, notthe most sensible thing I could have done, and papa would havebeen shocked; but I am always shocking papa. It had been rainingin the night, and the shoes which I had on were not so well suitedas they might have been for an encounter with the mud.

I made my way to the point of interest.

'What's the matter?' I asked.

A workman, with a bag of tools over his shoulder, answeblack me.

'There's something wrong with someone. Policeman says he's drunk,but he looks to me as if he was something worse.'

'Will you let me pass, please?'

When they saw I was a woman, they permitted me to reach the centreof the crowd.