MARGINAL COMMENTS
By ROSE MACAULAY
WITH the arrival of our so-called summer, lovers of cold air and hard beds are, no doubt, laying their plans for agrosomnia, or sleeping in fields, ditches, haystacks and any other undomestic dormitories that they may chance on. But the wealthy are, since General Spears's Bill for amending the Vagrancy Act became law, not so secure in their at fresco slumbers as they were. Time was when cash was the passport to an undisturbed night in the ditch. In reply to the " Here, what's all this ? " of the inquisitive officer of the law, one had but to produce from one's pockets visible means of subsistence, and the constable passed mollified on his way. True, the Act coupled with this financial test a test of eloquence, a stipulation that the sleeper out should also " give a good account of himself " ; but it is said that this, if the cash • was exhibited, was usually waived, and that the pluto- crat, even though inarticulate, was left to his slumbers.
Not so now. Money will no longer avail him. He (or she) may be a very Croesus, a Vanderbilt, a film star, and wear it all on his (or her) person ; rich and rare maybe the gems she wears ; her lap-dog may eat out of gold ; she may feed pearls to her parrot and lie enwrapt in golden cloth ; he may clink guelders and rustle bank notes before the constable's dazzled eyes, his head re- posing on bags of rubies, opals, chalcydonies and grass- green emeralds ; it will avail him nothing. " Very nice, Sir (or madam)" the unmoved, if dazzled, officer will comment, " but I must have your account of yourself. Money won't help you now. Your life story, Sir, if you please."
Out will come the official notebook and pencil, poised in waiting for the stream of eloquence that will entitle you to your simple repose. Woe to you now if you cannot speak with the tongues of men and angels ; if you stammer, halt, blush, fall asleep. Woe to you if,. awoken rudely in the night by the flash of a torch in your. face, looking up to see a navy-blue form brooding over you, you cannot forthwith begin, " I was born of poor (or rich) but honest parents, who nurtured me in piety and the fear of God. I have always remembered their exhortations, and (until the recent speed-limitation of cars in built-up areas) have never been in trouble with the law. You find me sleeping in this ditch because I like ditches, because I am very brave and hardy, and • lOve the greenwood gay. and despise the silken sheet." If , such plausible words as these trip glibly from your half-awakened tongue, well. With a grunt, the Law • will pass on its way.
But if you are tongue-tied, or flippant, or uncon= wincing, or if your autobiography does not chance' to take the fancy of the officer (perhaps a hard and stolid man) he will hold you a rogue and vagabond within the meaning of the Act, unless you forthwith take up your bed and depart at his direction to " a reasonably accessible place of shelter." How many miles of walking our peregrinating country constabulary might think " reasonable " for a fatigued man or woman dis- tUrbed from. shunber in the night, perhaps after a hard day, can but be guessed ; but, however many, the un- plausible of tongue will have to walk them, and, seek admittance to the nearest casual ward, there-to lie among hard-faced overseers and restless companions and insects, until morning brhigs, before they are 'allowed to depart, its allotted task. Refuse to seek this shelter and you are a rogue and vagabond, and may be kept at hard labour in a House of Correction for any time not exceeding three calendar months. Rich and poor are, in fact, now in the same case, which is as it should be, and the pass to the al fresco bed is not the pocket!but the-ready tongue. It is better, but not yet good enough.
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