Cozens has a conscience--a conformist conscience--and is a first-class
season-ticket holder.
The other morning we were travelling up to town together as usual.
He was evidently bursting with the anticipatory pride of telling me
something very much to his credit. Presently, at a gap in my reading,
he said:--
"I left my season at home this morning, so I bought a return."
"What on earth for?" I expostulated. "You've already paid the company
once by taking out a season; why pay twice? And anyhow it's only the
Government."
"It's the first duty of a citizen to obey the laws of his country,"
he proclaimed sententiously.
"Oh, all right; but you'll never get your money back--not from the
Government. Besides, you could easily have got through without a
ticket."
"How?"
"By taking out your note-case at the barrier and showing the girl the
back of a Bradbury. Dazzled by the display of so much wealth, she'd
pass you without a murmur."
"A miserable subterfuge," Cozens protested.
"Or you and I might walk up to the barrier deep in conversation. I
should then get in front, and the examiner would pull me up for my
ticket. I should fumble before producing my season. Meantime you would
have passed beyond recall."
"I simply couldn't do it."
"Or why not pay at the barrier, if you _must_ pay?"
"Yes, and lose the return ticket rate. How should I get down
to-night?"
"That's easy. Buy a platform ticket. The man at the gate at home will
pass you; he knows you."
"All underhand work," said Cozens. "It's much more dignified to buy a
ticket."
Just then a travelling inspector entered our carriage.
"Tickets, gentlemen, please!"
And Cozens, looking supremely undignified, produced a third-class
return, and tried to explain.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Little Girl_ (_reading poster_). "OH, MUMMY, ISN'T
THAT VULGAR? OUGHTN'T THEY TO PUT 'PERSPIRED LABOUR'?"]
* * * * *