It was as though I had received a
knock-down blow in a fight, and that does not hurt one for long. But how
lucky that the water was out of the mill stream! I had been pitched into
about six inches of water, and a policeman who heard the splash jumped
over some rails, and cut across a private paddock in time to save me
from being smothered in the mud. It is now midnight; I have a man with
me, and I am not quite so vigorous as I could wish, but my head is
clear, and to-morrow there will only be the criss-cross mass of
sticking-plaster to tell that I have been felled and robbed. I shall try
to pay Mr. Blackey out. Meantime the police and public should remember
that many men in London pick up a living by arranging humorous little
midnight interviews like that which I went through. Only the
professionals work on the Thames Embankment, and the "bashed" man,
instead of going into six inches of mud, never is heard of again till
his carcass is brought before the coroner.
ONE OF OUR ENTERTAINMENTS.
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