country platform. A porter followed with his suit-case.

"Why didn't you tell me that the Man of Fame was with you?"

"I thought I'd give you a pleasant surprise," said I.

"I met Robson of the Embassy in Constantinople--you remember Robson of
Pembroke--fussy little cock-sparrow--he'd just come from England and was
full of it. You seem to have got 'em in the neck. Bully! Bully!"

Adrian took advantage of the narrow width of the exit to release himself
and I, who went on with Jaffery, looking back, saw him rub himself
ruefully, as though he had been mauled by a bear.

"And how's everybody?" Jaffery's voice reverberated through the subway.
"Barbara and the fairy grasshopper? I'm longing to see 'em. That's the
pull of being free. You can adopt other fellows' wives and families. I'm
coming home now to my adopted wife and daughter. How are they?"

I answered explicitly. He boomed on till we reached the station yard,
where his eye fell upon a familiar object.

"What?" cried he. "Have you still got the Chinese Puffhard?"

The vehicle thus disrespectfully alluded to was an ancient, ancient car,
the pride of many a year ago, which sentiment (together with the
impossibility of finding a purchaser) would not allow me to sell. It had
been a splendid thing in those far-off days. It kept me in health. It
made me walk miles and miles along unknown and unfrequented roads. In
the aggregate I must have spent months of my life doing physical culture