By dodging forward to place each blind man's hand upon the banister,
Corporal Smith managed to send off his patients without a stumble. But
as the stair inexorably lowered them into the bowels of the earth he
realised, only too vividly, what might happen at the foot of the
descent. The evening rush of suburb-bound passengers had begun and the
staircase was rather crowded. Nobody seemed to realise that the
khaki-overcoated men who stood so still upon the steps were not the
usual hospital convalescents out on leave and able to look after
themselves. Corporal Smith, delayed by one man who had hesitated at the
top before taking the plunge, beheld his charges below him, hopelessly
dotted, at intervals, amongst the general public. It was impossible for
him to struggle down ahead, to the bottom of the staircase, to guide the
men off as they arrived. This task, he hoped, would be adequately
performed by the one-eyed man.
It might have been. The one-eyed man was game for anything. But Jock,
arriving in the highest good humour at the bottom of the staircase, was
tilted sideways by the curve, and promptly sat down on the
landing-place.
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