"This is Albemarle Road. If you're going on it'll be another penny," she
insisted.

I rose in bewilderment.

St. Ives was looking at me while she knitted. I raised my hat to her and
smiled. We had been such good friends all the evening--how could I ever
forget it? But she did not smile; she only stared. She seemed to think I
was mad. Macclesfield was reading his _Star_ just as if he had never hurled
himself on to the top of the 'bus. The flapper was squinting at herself in
a little pocket-mirror; she looked contemptuously at me as I passed. Old
York was half asleep. One would think they had never been rushing about in
that frantic General Post. And we were all inside the car again.

It _was_ odd!

* * * * *

[Illustration: "THE BLOKE WOT PAINTED THAT KNEW 'OW TO DO A BIT O' FOOD
'OARDING, DIDN'T 'E?"]

* * * * *

'TWAS FIFTY YEARS AGO.

(_Lines suggested by an old Magazine._)

Published the year I went to school--
The second of life's seven ages--