ItwasthefirstSaturdayafternooninAugustithadbeenbroilinghotallday,withacloudlesssky,andthesunhadbeenbeatingdownonthehouses,sothatthetoproomswerelikeovensbutnowwiththeapproachofeveningitwascooler,andeveryoneinVereStreetwasoutofdoors.
Verestreet,Lambeth,isashort,straightstreetleadingoutoftheWestminsterBridgeRoadithasfortyhousesononesideandfortyhousesontheother,andtheseeightyhousesareverymuchmorelikeoneanotherthaneverpeasarelikepeas,oryoungladieslikeyoungladies.Theyarenewish,three-storiedbuildingsofdingygreybrickwithslateroofs,andtheyareperfectlyflat,withoutabow-windoworevenaprojectingcorniceorwindow-silltobreakthestraightnessofthelinefromoneendofthestreettotheother.
ThisSaturdayafternoonthestreetwasfulloflifenotrafficcamedownVereStreet,andthecementedspacebetweenthepavementswasgivenuptochildren.Severalgamesofcricketwerebeingplayedbywildlyexcitedboys,usingcoatsforwickets,anoldtennis-ballorabundleofragstiedtogetherforaball,and,generally,anoldbroomstickforbat.Thewicketwassolargeandthebatsosmallthatthemaninwasalwaysgettingbowled,whenheatedquarrelswouldarise,thebatterabsolutelyrefusingtogooutandthebowlerabsolutelyinsistingongoingin.Thegirlsweremorepeaceabletheywerechieflyemployedinskipping,andonlyabusedoneanothermildlywhentheropewasnotproperlyturnedortheskipperdidnotjumpsufficientlyhigh.Worstoffofallweretheveryyoungchildren,fortherehadbeennorainforweeks,andthestreetwasasdryandcleanasacoveredcourt,and,inthelackofmudtowallowin,theysatabouttheroad,disconsolateaspoets.Thenumberofbabieswasprodigioustheysprawledabouteverywhere,onthepavement,roundthedoors,andabouttheirmothers'skirts.Thegrown-upsweregatheredroundtheopendoorstherewereusuallytwowomensquattingonthedoorstep,andtwoorthreemoreseatedoneithersideonchairstheywereinvariablynursingbabies,andmostofthemshowedclearsignsthatthepresentobjectofthematernalcarewouldbesoonoustedbyanewarrival.Menwerelessnumerousbutsuchastherewereleantagainstthewalls,smoking,orsatonthesillsofthegr