"Talking of presence of mind," said a man who had not yet spoken,
emerging from his book, "an odd thing happened to me not so very long
ago--since the War--and, as it chances, happened in a railway carriage
too--as it might be in this. It is a story against a friend of mine,
and I hope he's wiser now, but I'll tell it to you."

We had not asked for his story but we made ourselves up to listen.

"It was during the early days of the War," he said, "before some of us
had learned better, and my friend and I were travelling to the North.
He is a very good fellow, but a little hasty, and a little too much
disposed to think everyone wrong but himself. Opposite us was a man
hidden behind a newspaper, all that was visible of him being a huge
pair of legs in knickerbockers, between which was a bag of golf-clubs.

"My friend at that time was not only suspicious of everyone's
patriotism but a deadly foe of golf. He even went so far as to call it
Scotch croquet and other contemptuous names. I saw him watching the
clubs and the paper and speculating on the age of the man, whose legs
were, I admit, noticeably young, and he drew my attention to him
too--by nudges and whispers. Obviously this was a shirker.

"For a while my friend contented himself with half-suppressed snorts
and other signs of disapproval, but at last he could hold himself in
no longer. Leaning forward he tapped the man smartly on the knee, with
the question, 'Why aren't you in khaki?' It was an inquiry, you will
remember, that was being much put at the time--before compulsion came
in.