But it is these slight things which reveal character. They
oft-times influence human lives, too; and no man ever extricated
himself more promptly from the humdrum of moneyless existence in London
than did Richard Royson that day by placing the width of the sidewalk
between himself and the unbroken row of spectators. Of course, he knew
nothing of that at the moment. His objective was an appointment at
eleven' o'clock in the neighborhood of Charing Cross, and, now that he
was given the excuse, he meant to march along the Mall behind the
Guards. Meanwhile, he watched their advance.
Above the tall bearskins and glittering bayonets he caught the flourish
of energetic drumsticks. The big drum gave forth its clamor with
window-shaking insistence; it seemed to be the summons of power that
all else should stand aside. On they came, these spruce Guards, each
man a marching machine, trained to strut and pose exactly as his
fellows. There was a sense of omnipotence in their rhythmic movement.
And they all had the grand manner--from the elegant captain in command
down to the smallest drummer-boy.
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