The austerity of Waterloo Station was lightened on the followingmorning at ten minutes to eleven, when I arrived to catch the train toCombe Regis, by several gleams of sunshine and a great deal of bustleand activity on the various platforms. A porter took my suitcase andgolf-clubs, and arranged an assignation on Number 6 platform. I boughtmy ticket, and made my way to the bookstall, where, in the interestsof trade, I inquired in a loud and penetrating voice if they had gotJeremy Garnet's "Manoeuvres of Arthur." Being informed that they hadnot, I clicked my tongue reproachfully, advised them to order in asupply, as the demand was likely to be large, and spent a couple ofshillings on a magazine and some weekly papers. Then, with ten minutesto spare, I went off in search of Ukridge.

　　I found him on platform six. The eleven-twenty was already alongside,and presently I observed my porter cleaving a path towards me with thesuit-case and golf-bag.

　　"Here you are!" shouted Ukridge vigorously. "Good for you. Thought youwere going to miss it."I shook hands with the smiling Mrs. Ukridge.

　　"I've got a carriage and collared two corner seats. Millie goes downin another. She doesn't like the smell of smoke when she's travelling.

　　Hope we get the carriage to ourselves. Devil of a lot of people herethis morning. Still, the more people there are in the world, the moreeggs we shall sell. I can see with half an eye that all theseblighters are confirmed egg-eaters. Get in, sonnie. I'll just see themissis into her carriage, and come back to you."I entered the compartment, and stood at the door, looking out in thefaint hope of thwarting an invasion of fellow-travellers. Then Iwithdrew my head suddenly and sat down. An elderly gentleman,accompanied by a pretty girl, was coming towards me. It was not thistype of fellow traveller whom I had hoped to keep out. I had noticedthe girl at the booking office. She had waited by the side of thequeue while the elderly gentleman struggled gamely for the tickets,and I had had plenty of opportunity of observing her appearance. I haddebated with myself whether her hair should rightly be described asbrown or golden. I had finally decided on brown. Once only had I mether eyes, and then only for an instant. They might be blue. They mightbe grey. I could not be certain. Life is full of these problems.

　　"This seems to be tolerably empty, my dear Phyllis," said the elderlygentleman, coming to the door of the compartment and looking in.

　　"You're sure you don't object to a smoking-carriage?""Oh no, father. Not a bit.""Then I think . . ." said the elderly gentleman, getting in.

　　The inflection of his voice suggested the Irishman. It was not abrogue. There were no strange words. But the general effect was Irish.

　　"That's good," he said, settling himself and pulling out a cigar case.