A London merchant resided a few miles from the City, in an elegant
mansion, to and from which he journeyed daily, and invariably by third
class. It happened that one of the clerks in his employ lived in a
cottage accessible by the same line of railway, but he always travelled
first class; the same train thus presenting the anomaly of the master
being in that place which one would naturally assign to the man, and the
man appearing to usurp the position of the master. One day these two
alighted at the terminus in full view of each other. “Well,” said Mr.
B—, in that tone of banter which a superior so frequently thinks it
becoming to adopt, “I don’t know how you manage to ride first-class, when
in these hard times I find third-class fare as much as I can afford.”
“Sir,” replied the clerk, “you, who are known to be a person of wealth
and position, may adopt the most economical mode of travelling at no more
risk than being thought eccentric, and even with the applause of some for
your manifest absence of pride. But, as for myself, I cannot afford to
indulge in such irregularities. Among the persons I travel with I am
reported to be a well-paid _employé_, and am respected accordingly; to
maintain this reputation I am compelled to travel in the same manner as
they do, and were I to adopt an inferior mode, it would be attributed to
some serious falling off of income; a circumstance which would occasion
me not only loss of consideration among my _quondam_ fellow-travellers,
but one which, upon coming to the ears of my butcher, baker, and grocer,
might seriously injure my credit with those highly respectable, but
certainly worldly minded tradesmen.” Mr. B— was not slow in recognizing
the full force of the argument, more particularly as the question of his
own liberality was involved, nor did he hesitate to give it a practical
application by immediately increasing the salary of his clerk; not only
to the amount of a first-class season ticket, but something over.
—_The Railway Traveller’s Handy Book_.