"I wonder if you can help me," I said. "I've left my return ticket
on the dress--Well, we needn't worry about that, I've left it at
home."
He didn't seem intensely excited.
"What did you think of doing?" he asked.
"I had rather hoped that YOU would do something."
"You can buy another ticket, and get the money back afterwards."
"Yes, yes; but can I? I've only got about one pound six."
"The fare to London is one pound five and tenpence ha'penny."
"Ah; well, that leaves a penny ha'penny to be divided between the
porter this end, lunch, tea, the porter the other end, and the cab.
I don't believe it's enough. Even if I gave it all to the porter
here, think how reproachfully he would look at you ever afterwards.
It would haunt you."
The station-master was evidently moved. He thought for a moment, and
then asked if I knew anybody who would vouch for me. I mentioned
Herbert confidently. He had never even heard of Herbert.
"I've got a tie-pin," I said (station-masters have a weakness for
tie-pins), "and a watch and a cigarette case. I shall be happy to
lend you any of those."
The idea didn't appeal to him.
"The best thing you can do," he said, "is to take a ticket to the
next station and talk to them there. This is only a branch line, and
I have no power to give you a pass."
So that was what I had to do. I began to see myself taking a ticket
at every stop and appealing to the station-master at the next. Well,
the money would last longer that way, but unless I could overcome
quickly the distrust which I seemed to inspire in station-masters
there would not be much left for lunch. I gave the porter all I
could afford--a ha'penny, mentioned apologetically that I was coming
back, and stepped into the train.
At the junction I jumped out quickly and dived into the sacred
office.
"I've left my ticket on the dressing--that is to say I forgot--well,
anyhow I haven't got it," I began, and we plunged into explanations
once more. This station-master was even more unemotional than the
last. He asked me if I knew anybody who could vouch for me--I
mentioned Herbert diffidently. He had never even heard of Herbert. I
showed him my gold watch, my silver cigarette case, and my emerald
and diamond tie-pin--that was the sort of man I was.
"The best thing you can do," he said, walking with me to the door,"
is to take a ticket to Plymouth and speak to the station-master
there--"
"This is a most interesting game," I said bitterly. "What is 'home'?
When you speak to the station-master at London, I suppose? I've a
good mind to say 'Snap!'"
Extremely annoyed I strode out, and bumped into--you'll never
guess--Herbert!
"Ah, here you are," he panted; "I rode after you--the train was just
going--jumped into it--been looking all over the station for you."
"It's awfully nice of you, Herbert. Didn't I say good-bye?"
"Your ticket." He produced it. "Left it on the dressing-table." He
took a deep breath. "I told you you would."
"Bless you," I said, as I got happily into my train. "You've saved
my life. I've had an awful time. I say, do you know, I've met two
station-masters already this morning who've never even heard of you.
You must inquire into it."
At that moment a porter came up.
"Did you give up your ticket, sir?" he asked Herbert.
"I hadn't time to get one," said Herbert, quite at his ease. "I'll
pay now," and he began to feel in his pockets.... The train moved
out of the station.
A look of horror came over Herbert's face. I knew what it meant. He
hadn't any money on him. "Hi!" he shouted to me, and then we swung
round a bend out of sight....
Well, well, he'll have to get home somehow. His watch is only nickel
and his cigarette case leather, but luckily that sort of thing
doesn't weigh much with station-masters. What they want is a well-
known name as a reference. Herbert is better off than I was: he can
give them MY name. It will be idle for them to pretend that they
have never heard of me.