A large concourse of people stood drawn up in line on each side of the street, marshalled by policemen.

A familiar crooked figure limped from the shadow of the door, holding a hard felt hat, his white poll gleaming in the shaft of light.

"God bless you, sonny," he said in a hoarse whisper.
Paul took the old man by the arm and drew him across the pavement to the car.

"Get in," said he.
Barney Bill hung back.

"No, sonny; no." "It's not the first time we've driven together.