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"
Daybreak
,
gentlemen
!
"
The
grey
warm
evening
of
August
had
descended
upon
the
city
and
a
mild
warm
air
,
a
memory
of
summer
,
circulated
in
the
streets
.
The
streets
,
shuttered
for
the
repose
of
Sunday
,
swarmed
with
a
gaily
coloured
crowd
.
Like
illumined
pearls
the
lamps
shone
from
the
summits
of
their
tall
poles
upon
the
living
texture
below
which
,
changing
shape
and
hue
unceasingly
,
sent
up
into
the
warm
grey
evening
air
an
unchanging
unceasing
murmur
.
Two
young
men
came
down
the
hill
of
Rutland
Square
.
On
of
them
was
just
bringing
a
long
monologue
to
a
close
.
The
other
,
who
walked
on
the
verge
of
the
path
and
was
at
times
obliged
to
step
on
to
the
road
,
owing
to
his
companion
's
rudeness
,
wore
an
amused
listening
face
.
He
was
squat
and
ruddy
.
A
yachting
cap
was
shoved
far
back
from
his
forehead
and
the
narrative
to
which
he
listened
made
constant
waves
of
expression
break
forth
over
his
face
from
the
corners
of
his
nose
and
eyes
and
mouth
.
Little
jets
of
wheezing
laughter
followed
one
another
out
of
his
convulsed
body
.
His
eyes
,
twinkling
with
cunning
enjoyment
,
glanced
at
every
moment
towards
his
companion
's
face
.
Once
or
twice
he
rearranged
the
light
waterproof
which
he
had
slung
over
one
shoulder
in
toreador
fashion
.
His
breeches
,
his
white
rubber
shoes
and
his
jauntily
slung
waterproof
expressed
youth
.
But
his
figure
fell
into
rotundity
at
the
waist
,
his
hair
was
scant
and
grey
and
his
face
,
when
the
waves
of
expression
had
passed
over
it
,
had
a
ravaged
look
.
When
he
was
quite
sure
that
the
narrative
had
ended
he
laughed
noiselessly
for
fully
half
a
minute
.
Then
he
said
:
"
Well
!
...
That
takes
the
biscuit
!
"
His
voice
seemed
winnowed
of
vigour
;
and
to
enforce
his
words
he
added
with
humour
:
"
That
takes
the
solitary
,
unique
,
and
,
if
I
may
so
call
it
,
recherche
biscuit
!
"
He
became
serious
and
silent
when
he
had
said
this
.
His
tongue
was
tired
for
he
had
been
talking
all
the
afternoon
in
a
public-house
in
Dorset
Street
.
Most
people
considered
Lenehan
a
leech
but
,
in
spite
of
this
reputation
,
his
adroitness
and
eloquence
had
always
prevented
his
friends
from
forming
any
general
policy
against
him
.
He
had
a
brave
manner
of
coming
up
to
a
party
of
them
in
a
bar
and
of
holding
himself
nimbly
at
the
borders
of
the
company
until
he
was
included
in
a
round
.
He
was
a
sporting
vagrant
armed
with
a
vast
stock
of
stories
,
limericks
and
riddles
.
He
was
insensitive
to
all
kinds
of
discourtesy
.
No
one
knew
how
he
achieved
the
stern
task
of
living
,
but
his
name
was
vaguely
associated
with
racing
tissues
.
"
And
where
did
you
pick
her
up
,
Corley
?
"
he
asked
.
Corley
ran
his
tongue
swiftly
along
his
upper
lip
.
