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148
The Diary of a Nobody
·
George Grossmith Weedon Grossmith
108
When
we
got
outside
the
Drill
Hall
it
was
raining
so
hard
that
the
roads
resembled
canals,
and
I
need
hardly
say
we
had
great
difficulty
in
getting
a
cabman
to
take
us
to
Holloway.
After
waiting
a
bit,
a
man
said
he
would
drive
us,
anyhow,
as
far
as
“The
Angel,”
at
Islington,
and
we
could
easily
get
another
cab
from
there.
It
was
a
tedious
journey;
the
rain
was
beating
against
the
windows
and
trickling
down
the
inside
of
the
cab.
When
we
arrived
at
“The
Angel”
the
horse
seemed
tired
out.
Carrie
got
out
and
ran
into
a
doorway,
and
when
I
came
to
pay,
to
my
absolute
horror
I
remembered
I
had
no
money,
nor
had
Carrie.
I
explained
to
the
cabman
how
we
were
situated.
Never
in
my
life
have
I
ever
been
so
insulted;
the
cabman,
who
was
a
rough
bully
and
to
my
thinking
not
sober,
called
me
every
name
he
could
lay
his
tongue
to,
and
positively
seized
me
by
the
beard,
which
he
pulled
till
the
tears
came
into
my
eyes.
I
took
the
number
of
a
policeman
(who
witnessed
the
assault)
for
not
taking
the
man
in
charge.
The
policeman
said
he
couldn’t
interfere,
that
he
had
seen
no
assault,
and
that
people
should
not
ride
in
cabs
without
money.
We
had
to
walk
home
in
the
pouring
rain,
nearly
two
miles,
and
when
I
got
in
I
put
down
the
conversation
I
had
with
the
cabman,
word
for
word,
as
I
intend
writing
to
the
Telegraph
for
the
purpose
of
proposing
that
cabs
should
be
driven
only
by
men
under
Government
control,
to
prevent
civilians
being
subjected
to
the
disgraceful
insult
and
outrage
that
I
had
had
to
endure.
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