for me.

The family entreat me to hurry home.

I ate a very fair dinner--"laid in a good stock of ballast," as my
seafaring friend would have said; wished "Good-bye!" to everybody,
and kissed Aunt Emma; promised to take care of myself--a promise
which, please Heaven, I will faithfully keep, cost me what it may--
hailed a cab and started.

I reached Victoria some time before B. I secured two corner seats
in a smoking-carriage, and then paced up and down the platform
waiting for him.

When men have nothing else to occupy their minds, they take to
thinking. Having nothing better to do until B. arrived, I fell to
musing.

What a wonderful piece of Socialism modern civilisation has become!-
-not the Socialism of the so-called Socialists--a system modelled
apparently upon the methods of the convict prison--a system under
which each miserable sinner is to be compelled to labour, like a
beast of burden, for no personal benefit to himself, but only for
the good of the community--a world where there are to be no men, but
only numbers--where there is to be no ambition and no hope and no
fear,--but the Socialism of free men, working side by side in the
common workshop, each one for the wage to which his skill and energy
entitle him; the Socialism of responsible, thinking individuals, not
of State-directed automata.