Twenty Thousand Streets Under the Sky by Patrick Hamilton

drunk, and secretive drunk, and dignified drunk, and admittedly drunk, and fighting drunk, and even rolling drunk. One gentleman, Bob observed, was patently blind drunk. Only one stage off dead drunk, that is – in which event he would not be able to leave the place unassisted.
    And over all this ranting scene Ella, bright and pert andneat and industrious, held her barmaid’s sway. She was the recipient of half the confidences, and half the jokes, and half the leers. Because she symbolized, in her sober but smiling figure, all those restraints and righteous inhibitions which had been gloriously cast behind to-night, she was made the butt of their friendly irony and arrogance. And she accepted the challenge, and adopted one good-humoured, non-committal and chiding attitude to all. Furthermore she was never at a loss for a reply to throw over her shoulder as she swept away to fulfil the next order.
    It seemed to Bob that he never admired Ella so much as at this time of night. Her naïve goodness and innate decency never glowed out so strongly as when she gave tit for tat amid this maudlin and besetting pack. But there was something even more than this. There was the fact of her femininity and the charm of her infinite tolerance. And these things, added to her wonderful equability and efficiency, transformed her into something quite maternal and irresistible. She became, in fact, scarcely a barmaid at all, but rather the little mother of the bar, and everyone was made just naughty and innocent in the radiance of her forgiveness.
    But Bob was in that sort of mood to-night. He had only just come in from under the stars – stars in whose tender light he had proffered aid to a fallen human being. And one who has just done that sort of thing feels he wants to forgive and love everything.
    He apprehended the enormous gulf that separated Ella from the little wretch (the rather pretty little wretch) he had just assisted. He apprehended the gulf, but bridged it with his magnanimity. Ella, the sweet and upright Ella, did as she should in designating her as a ‘Creature’ – but he also did as he should in bestowing his compassion upon a ‘creature’ – if only for the very reason that she was a ‘creature,’ and in need. For he was in that mood when he loved all human creatures. He loved Ella because she was a good woman, and he loved the other because she was a bad woman. It was a good world.
    In brief, because he had given ten shillings to a young prostitute without expecting the usual thing in return he wasdreadfully conceited. He was so innocent as to believe the transaction was almost unique. He little suspected cunning mankind’s general awareness of the charms of chivalry. He was in love with himself.
    And a man successfully in love desires above all things to sing. And the fates were so propitious to Bob to-night that no sooner was the desire formulated than he was given the chance to do so. The deceitful clock pointed to ten o’clock, and it was time to cry ‘All Out!’
    The Governor began it. His voice was scarcely heard above the din. ‘Now then, gentlemen, please!’ he cried. ‘Last orders, please!’ And he looked over at Bob.
    Bob, serving in the lounge, waited a few moments. Then ‘Last orders, please, gentlemen! Time please!’ he cried, in sternly expressionless tones.
    Bob did not suppose that this would cause any modification in the great, grumbling growl of talk around him, and it did not. Possibly, in the far recesses of vinous brains, the dark admonition was heard by a few. Possibly this manifested itself (in the persons of those few) in a sudden vague unease, a glancing round, a barely observable drop of the countenance. . . . But the infamy (or rather the absurdity) could obviously never gain popular credit. And it was, of course, an absolute absurdity, for the people in ‘The Midnight Bell’ were only just beginning to enjoy themselves.
    He began again, more loudly, and more