Then the explanation flashed upon me. I had been seen approaching. The
word had been passed round. A stranger! The clique resents intrusion.
It lies hid. These gay fellows see me all the time, and are secretly
amused. But they do not know with whom they have to deal. I have come
to join them, and join them I will. I am not easily beaten. I will
outlast them. The joke shall be eventually against them, at some
eccentric supper. I shall chaff them about how they tried to elude me,
and failed.

The hours passed. Still no Bohemians. I began to grow hungry. I sprang
on to a passing 'bus. It took me to Victoria. I lunched at the
Shakespeare Hotel, smoked a pipe, and went out into the sunlight again.
It had occurred to me that night was perhaps the best time for trapping
my shy quarry. Possibly the revels did not begin in Manresa Road till
darkness had fallen. I spent the afternoon and evening in the Park,
dined at Lyons' Popular Cafe (it must be remembered that I was not yet
a Bohemian, and consequently owed no deference to the traditions of the
order); and returned at nine o'clock to the Manresa Road. Once more I
drew blank. A barrel-organ played cake-walk airs in the middle of the
road, but it played to an invisible audience. No bearded men danced
can-cans around it, shouting merry jests to one another. Solitude
reigned.

I wait. The duel continues. What grim determination, what perseverance
can these Bohemians put into a mad jest! I find myself thinking how
much better it would be were they to apply to their Art the same
earnestness and fixity of purpose which they squander on a practical
joke.