WILSON sat on the balcony of the Bedford Hotel with his bald pink knees thrust against the ironwork. It was Sunday and the Cathedral bell clanged for matins. On the other side of Bond street, in the windows of the High School, sat the young negresses in darkbluegym smocks engaged on, the interminable task of trying to wave their wirespring hair. Wilson stroked his very young moustache and dreamed, waiting for his ginandbitters.