A FRIEND IN REQUEST




It was the hour of the unyoking of men. In the highways and byways
of Clerkenwell there was a thronging of released toilers, of young
and old, of male and female. Forth they streamed from factories and
workrooms, anxious to make the most of the few hours during which
they might live for themselves. Great numbers were still bent over
their labour, and would be for hours to come, but the majority had
leave to wend stablewards. Along the main thoroughfares the
wheel-track was clangorous; every omnibus that clattered by was
heavily laden with passengers; tarpaulins gleamed over the knees of
those who sat outside. This way and that the lights were blurred
into a misty radiance; overhead was mere blackness, whence descended
the lashing rain. There was a ceaseless scattering of mud; there
were blocks in the traffic, attended with rough jest or angry curse;
there was jostling on the crowded pavement. Public-houses began to
brighten up, to bestir themselves for the evening's business.
Streets that had been hives of activity since early morning were
being abandoned to silence and darkness and the sweeping wind.

At noon to-day there was sunlight on the Surrey hills; the fields
and lanes were fragrant with the first breath of spring, and from
the shelter of budding copses many a primrose looked tremblingly up
to the vision of blue sky. But of these things Clerkenwell takes no
count; here it had been a day like any other, consisting of so many
hours, each representing a fraction of the weekly wage. Go where you