EPILOGUE 603

few remarks already, each having recognised in the other
an old hand and a kindred spirit. They knew even now
that the moment the steward was at liberty to dispense
his liquors, they would be having a drink together, the
first of many, many drinks. This other man, Sugden,
was a tallish fellow with a long bony face and a vast
shaven upper lip, a Lancashire man who travelled for
some chemical firm. He had one of those hard, flat,
Lancashire voices that give every statement they make a
lugubrious and disillusioned air.

"Moving," that voice announced now, to Mr, Golspie.

"Moving," said Mr. Golspie.

They stood together, two solid middle-aged men, and
together they watched the long line of masts and funnels
in the Royal Albert Dock go sliding away. They were
still in London, and no great distance from the buses and
trams, the teashops and the pubs, yet all that London
seemed to have disappeared long ago. Here was another
city with streets and squares of dark water, a city of
wharves and sheds, masts and funnels and cranes, barges,
tugs, and lighters. Wherever you looked there appeared
to be nothing but these things, though in the far distance
a haze of smoke, hanging above the multitudinous
chimney pots of Poplar and Bow, suggested that the
other London, the brick and paving-stone London, was
still there. It was not a bad morning for the time of
year. Now and then the sunlight struggled through and
set the water glittering or brought out ghostly rainbow
hues on the darker oilier patches.

'This where they bring all the meat," said Sugden.
"This, and Liverpool If you blocked this place up for
a week or two, a lot o' people would find themselves
without their Sunday dinners. Not me, though. Give