midday
`` Look here , you chaps , '' he said , hesitatingly , with his hand in his pocket , `` I do n't know what I 'm going to do with all this stuff . There 's that there poor washerwoman that scalded her legs liftin ' the boiler of clothes off the fire -- '' We shoved him into the carriage . He hung -- about half of him -- out the window , wildly waving his hat , till the train disappeared in the scrub . And , as I sit here writing by lamplight at midday , in the midst of a great city of shallow social sham , of hopeless , squalid poverty , of ignorant selfishness , cultured or brutish , and of noble and heroic endeavour frowned down or callously neglected , I am almost aware of a burst of sunshine in the room , and a long form leaning over my chair , and : `` Excuse me for troublin ' yer ; I 'm always troublin ' yer ; but there 's that there poor woman ... '' And I wish I could immortalize him ! Now I often sit at Watty 's , when the night is very near , With a head that 's full of jingles -- and the fumes of bottled beer ; For I always have a fancy that , if I am over there When the Army prays for Watty , I 'm included in the prayer . It would take a lot of praying , lots of thumping on the drum , To prepare our sinful , straying , erring souls for Kingdom Come . But I love my fellow-sinners !