Anyhow, now--you've got to move on. You're obstructing the traffic."
"What traffic?"
"Along the road."
"But where is it going? Where does it come from? What does it mean? They're all round me. What do they want? What are they doin'? I want to understand. I'm tired of cuttin' chalk and bein' all alone. What are they doin' for me while I'm a-cuttin' chalk? I may just as well understand here and now as anywhere."
"Sorry. But we aren't here to explain things of that sort. I must arst you to move on."
"Don't you know?"
"I must arst you to move on--_if_ you please ... I'd strongly advise you to get off 'ome. We've 'ad no special instructions yet--but it's against the law ... Clear away there. Clear away."
The pavement to his left became invitingly bare, and young Caddles went slowly on his way. But now his tongue was loosened.
"I don't understand," he muttered. "I don't understand." He would appeal brokenly to the changing crowd that ever trailed beside him and behind. "I didn't know there were such places as this. What are all you people doing with yourselves? What's it Jail for? What is it all for, and where do I come in?"
He had already begotten a new catchword. Young men of wit and spirit addressed each other in this manner, "Ullo 'Arry O'Cock. Wot's it all _for_? Eh? Wot's it all bloomin' well _for_?"
