The London panorama under a sky of June
feasted his laughing eyes. Now he would wave a hand to a friend on
the pavement or borne past on another bus; now he would chuckle at a
bit of comedy in real life. Huge hotels and brilliant shops vividly
impressed him, though he saw them for the thousandth time; a new
device in advertising won his ungrudging admiration. Above all he
liked to find himself in the Strand at that hour of the day when
east and west show a double current of continuous traffic, tight
wedged in the narrow street, moving at a mere footpace, every
horse's nose touching the back of the next vehicle. The sun could
not shine too hotly; it made colours brighter, gave a new beauty to
the glittering public-houses, where names of cooling drinks seemed
to cry aloud. He enjoyed a "block," and was disappointed unless he
saw the policeman at Wellington Street holding up his hand whilst
the cross traffic from north and south rolled grandly through. It
always reminded him of the Bible story--Moses parting the waters of
the Red Sea.
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