Fortunately there is a much nearer St. Ives in Huntingdonshire, and if I
was going to St. Ives at all, with or without encumbrances, I should
certainly choose that one. As a matter of fact the Huntingdonshire St. Ives
is a very pleasant place indeed, with a lot of red-and-yellow cattle
standing about, if one may take the authority of the County Card Game in
these matters. It is almost as pleasant as Luton, where there is a fellow
in a blue smock with side-whiskers and a reaping-hook, and Leicester, which
consists solely of a windmill and a house where RICHARD III. slept on the
night before the Battle of Bosworth Field. Not a word about RAMSAY
MACDONALD.

But we are not talking about RAMSAY MACDONALD and the County Card Game; we
are talking about Sir ERIC GEDDES and his railway fares, and talking pretty
sharply too. What is to be done about this monstrous imposition? And how
are we going to show the Government that you cannot play about with ozone
as you can with margarine and coal? If only all passengers were prepared to
act in concert it would be easy enough to bring Sir ERIC to his knees. The
best and simplest plan would be for everybody to ask at the booking-office
for a half-fare, stating boldly that his or her age was exactly eleven
years and eleven months. It might not sound very convincing, of course,
even if you had a red-and-black cricket-cap on the back of your head and
covered your beard or what not with one hand; but a constant succession of
people all demanding the same thing would most certainly cause the
booking-clerk to give way. It might occur to him besides that, since so
many people insisted on giving their wrong ages for the pleasure of
fighting in war-time, they had a perfect right to do the same for the
pleasure of travelling in peace-time; and in the case of the women his
reputation for gallantry would be imperilled if he had the impudence to
doubt their word.