Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1903-08-15

The King of England was holding court.
With an incongruous disregard of this
event a dense fog lay over London. Inc
policemen at Hyde Park corner were verg-
ing on desperation. On all four sides OF
them from the crowded avenues of fash
ionable traffic which converge at the APP
proaches to Buckingham Palace there was
a jolting, threatening mass of vehicles,
hopelessly stalled.
Broughams bearing royal guests were
jammed into buses; motors smashed their
headlights against hanson cabs; horses
reared, men swore and women cried. Fear
and vexation reigned supreme.
Theater-going London. in broughams or
in hansoms, already late, fought or begged
Its way across, and in spite of the only
avenue which leads to the kings palace.
In the relief of a more than usually pow
erful light coachman could be seen bran
dishing his lord chamberlain card ana
demanding right of way.
From the four corners where all London
meets policemen shouted to each other.
Then out of the gloom steady streams OF
cabs and carriages, at walking pace, gin
gerly picked their way east and west along
the great thoroughfare of Piccadilly; buses,
for the most part empty. numbered along
behind. Newsboys twisted their late even
ing papers into torches and with these far
The congestion was relieved. There still
remained in those streets which run at right
angles to Piccadllly a thousand more
vehicles waiting to cross, but intersection
of the main stream of traffic was impos-
sble. Many of those in carriages had long
been due at buckingham Palace. With their
heads craned out in the fog they watched
the procession of dim lights which told
them that the traffic of east and west was
still passing and repassing along Piceadilly,
barring their way to the kings palace.
Some got out and walked. The fog deep
ened. Horses and vehicles found them
selves on the pavements. The impasse was
complete. All traffic ceased. Cabmen told
their fares to find their way back as best
they could; footmen took the lamps from
the carriages and tried to pilot their mis-
dresses homeward Handsome gowns OF
great price, meant only for the kings court
were draggled in the mud of SIDE streets,
through which the wearers wandered in a
tfresome seach for home. Some of the
women swore openly before their servants
From all this one man derived much com
fort.
For several hours he had been seated at
the open window of a house facing Park
Lane; his own house. generally described
as Joe Miler's Mansion"
The electric lights We're out. The fog
poured in and gleefully deposited it's CRIME
on tapestries bought at whimsical prices
Joe Miller was so near the street that he
could overhear the impatient threats and
fearful laments of fog-bound society; those
whose wealth and rank could affect almost
everything but the elements. They were
packed like sardines beneath his window
Many of the voices he knew, their impre-
cations, their bitter denuncia tons of every
thing from coachman to climate, came up
to him through the fog like the first news
of q strike of virgin gold. Others, besides
himself, were suffering. The thought at
forded temporary distraction.
Joseph Miller, now a South African mil
honaire, formerly a ranch hand In Califor-
mia, and his young wife had been invited,