Piccadilly, however, was not quite so deserted.Its pavements were brightened by well-dressed women without escort, and there was more life and action there than elsewhere, due to the process of finding escort.But by three o'clock the last of them had vanished, and it was then indeed lonely.
At half-past one the steady downpour ceased, and only showers fell thereafter.The homeless folk came away from the protection of the buildings, and slouched up and down and everywhere, in order to rush up the circulation and keep warm.
One old woman, between fifty and sixty, a sheer wreck, I had noticed, earlier in the night, standing in Piccadilly, not far from Leicester Square.She seemed to have neither the sense nor the strength to get out of the rain or keep walking, but stood stupidly, whenever she got the chance, meditating on past days, I imagine, when life was young and blood was warm.But she did not get the chance often.She was moved on by every policeman, and it required an average of six moves to send her doddering off one man's beat and on to another's.By three o'clock she had progressed as far as St.James Street, and as the clocks were striking four I saw her sleeping soundly against the iron railings of Green Park.A brisk shower was falling at the time, and she must have been drenched to the skin.
Now, said I, at one o'clock, to myself; consider that you are a poor young man, penniless, in London Town, and that to-morrow you must look for work.It is necessary, therefore, that you get some sleep in order that you may have strength to look for work and to do work in case you find it.
So I sat down on the stone steps of a building.Five minutes later, a policeman was looking at me.My eyes were wide open, so he only grunted and passed on.Ten minutes later my head was on my knees, I was dozing, and the same policeman was saying gruffly, ''Ere, you, get outa that!'