would have carried me off, as a friend of theirs who had the
misfortune to be mad or drunk. The last thought, however, was an
inspiration; though a very terrible one. Had it come to 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.'