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[page 50]
97
(3).
have to hurry away at once for a buss or Tube to get into Victoria Station in time, he produces two other men to help him blow whistles. They make Portland Place hideous with their whistles and then all three come and tell me that a taxi (which I have no doubt has been round the corner all the time) is at the door, having been secured at great difficulty. My advice to Hotel visitors is never to leave at seven in the morning for at that hour you catch the staff "changing over": there they are, both the night and the day shifts forming a sort of "arch of palms" on steps. The girl at the "leave keys here" counter grins. How I hate that girl. I get through with the loss of much small change, all the while wondering how anybody could possibly say that the British Nation is not organised. On the pavement I am confronted by the "superpalm" in the person of the resplendent Commissionaire with much gold braid and many medals (the coat with medals attached I suspect as being supplied by the Hotel). He has a huge umbrella in one hand and a mudguard in the other. Ha, here is someone at last whom I can out-general for he hasn't got a palm to spare. He seems to devine my intention however and in one bound reaches the door handle of the taxi before me. I succomb. "Where to, Sir?" he asks. "To Victoria Station and tell him to drive like the devil".
As I watch that taxi driver's back xxxxxxxxx through the window I sort of take a liking to him. He is going to be paid for DOING something for me. The idea appeals to me and I give him an extra shilling or so, instead of the customary tuppence. "Thank you Sir", he says, "And I hope you have a comfortable crossing". Somehow I was glad to receive that old chap's well wishes, they seemed genuine.
The scene at Victoria Station on the departure of the leave train is one which has over and over again been described in the