it he was a master. So great was his skill that the Great Eastern
Railway Company, which, financially, was in a parlous condition and their
dividend _nil_, in 1866 took him from the Midland and made him their
general manager, at, in those days, a princely salary. Their confidence
was fully justified; his skill brought the company, if not to absolute
prosperity, at least to a dividend-paying condition, and laid the
foundation of the position that company now occupies.

His reputation as a man of figures stood as I have just said very high,
but, whilst I was at Derby, and before he moved to the Great Eastern, he
was prominent also as the happy possessor of the best coloured meerschaum
pipes in the county, and this, in those days, was no small distinction.
But a man does not achieve greatness by his own unaided efforts. Others,
his subordinates, help him to climb the ladder. It was so with Mr.
Swarbrick. There was a tall policeman in the service of the company, the
possessor of a fine figure, and a splendid long sandy-coloured beard. His
primary duty was to air himself at the front entrance of the station
arrayed in a fine uniform and tall silk hat, and this duty he
conscientiously performed. Secondarily, his occupation was to start the
colouring of new meerschaums for Mr. Swarbrick. Non-meerschaum smokers
may not know what a delicate task this is, but once well begun the rest
is comparatively easy. The tall policeman was an artist at the work; but
it nearly brought him to a tragic end, as I will relate.

Outside Derby station was a ticket platform at which all incoming trains
stopped for the collection of tickets. This platform was on a bridge
that crossed the river. One Saturday night our fine policeman was airing
himself on this platform, colouring a handsome new meerschaum for Mr.
Swarbrick. It was a windy night and a sudden gust blew his tall hat into
the river, and after it unfortunately dropped the meerschaum. Hat and