Rudyard Kipling 215 would recommence till the gathering torture of it spurred him into another fight as hopeless as the first. Followed some few minutes of sleep in which he dreamed that he saw. Then the procession of events would repeat itself till he was utterly worn out and the brain took up its everlasting consideration of Maisie and might-have-beens. At the end of everything Mr. Beeton came to his room and volunteered to take him out. “Not marketing this time, but we'll go into the Parks if you like.” “Be damned if I do,” quoth Dick. “Keep to the streets and walk up and down. I like to hear the people round me. This was not altogether true. The blind in the first stages of their infirmity dislike those who can move with a free stride and unlifted arms — but Dick had no earthly desire to go to the Parks. Once and only once since Maisie had shut her door he had gone there under Alfs charge. Alf forgot him and fished for minnows in the Serpentine with some companions. After half an hour’s waiting Dick, almost weeping with rage and wrath, caught a passer-by, who introduced him to a friendly policeman, who led him to a four-wheeler opposite the Albert Hall. He never told Mr. Beeton of Alfs forgetfulness, but... this was not the manner in which he was used to walk the Parks aforetime. “What streets would you like to walk down, then?” said Mr. Beeton, sympathetically. His own ideas of a riotous holiday meant picnicking on the grass of Green Park with his family, and half a dozen paper bags full of food. “Keep to the river,” said Dick, and they kept to the river, and the rush of it was in his ears till they came to Blackfriars Bridge and struck thence on to the Waterloo Road, Mr. Beeton explaining the beauties of the scenery as he went on.