It was a seaside railway station, the arriving place of one of those
health resorts where people flock in their millions to enjoy a little
peace and quiet together. He, no doubt as a punishment for a misspent
youth, was the station-master; she was one of those many kind ladies who
come to meet their relatives and to make their arrival even more
peaceful and quiet than such events usually are.
"Was that the train from London?" she asked him.
He temporized. "Have you asked a porter?" he enquired.
She nodded.
"And have you asked another porter?"
She nodded again.
"And then the foreman porter? And then a ticket collector? And then the
inspector? And then a casual post-man? And then did you come across your
original porter and try him again?"
She admitted the list without a blush.
"And now tell me all about your dear lost one--a weak, helpless man, no
doubt?"
"It was my husband," she explained.
"A medium-sized man, in a macintosh and a straw hat, of course?"
She acquiesced.
"But none the less," continued the official, "a man of sterling worth?
You do not think he can be in some lost property office _en route_,
waiting to be called for?"
The suggestion was an attractive one, but was rejected. "Then," he said,
"let us go and discuss this intimate tragedy in some less public spot."
He took her to his office and begged her to be seated. "Repose all
confidence in me, Madam," he said, "for I am not without experience in
husbands. Good fellows on the whole, with their gladstone bags and their
pince-nez and their unmistakable respectability. But somehow they have
not acquired the knack of arriving when they are expected. Yours is the
seventh who has failed us by this train. True, the other six were coming
from Liverpool, whereas the 6.30 has come from London, but that is no
excuse for them or us."
"My husband is coming from London," she asserted, searching in her
reticule for documentary evidence.
He looked out of the window, avoiding her eye. "In less than twenty
minutes we have a nice fat competent train arriving partly from
Birmingham, partly from Manchester, partly from Sheffield and partly
from Birkenhead. There is even a dusty bit at the end which will have
come all the way from Scotland, though why I cannot say. It will be
simply full of husbands; you wouldn't care to try it, at any rate to let
us show it you?"
"But my husband," she repeated.
"Is essentially a London man? Madam, we do not wish you to take any of
these husbands we shall show you if they do not suit your requirements;
but do let us show them you."
"I know that my husband is coming from London," she persisted.
"Believe me, Madam," he protested, "I should not accuse you of being
mistaken, even if your husband should prove to be in this train I
recommend. He might have deceived you."
She refused to budge. "My husband's postcard says he is coming in the
6.30 train from London. The train has come and he is not in it."
The station-master asked to be allowed to see the postcard, not, he
explained, because he didn't believe her, but because he would like to
have his worst suspicions of his Company's inefficiency confirmed.
She handed it to him. He read the announcement, made briefly and without
enthusiasm, of the husband's proposed arrival "by the 6.30 train
to-morrow." The woman smiled with triumph; the station-master referred
to the postmark. He did not smile triumphantly. He was too old a hand
for that.
"Will you allow me to intercede as a friend for all parties?" he asked.
"Give him and us another chance; go away now and give us all twenty-four
hours to think it over. Then call again, and, if your patience is
rewarded, be generous and forgive us all."
After some debate she was induced to see reason in the proposal and
consented to take the lenient course. She rose to go.
"And if," said the station-master, showing her out, "if a train should
arrive at 6.30 from London to-morrow and disgorge this husband of yours,
won't you do us all a little kindness? Won't you make a point of telling
the porter, all the porters, foremen porters, ticket collectors,
inspectors, casual postmen and even myself? You have no idea what a
change it would be for us to hear a lady saying, 'My husband ought to
have come by this train, and he has!'"
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Illustration: FINANCIAL STRINGENCY AT THE SEASIDE; A GOOD PENNYWORTH.
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