to and fro, peering eagerly into carriages in search of seats.
Piercing voices ordered unknown "Tommies" and "Ernies" to "keep by
aunty, now." Just as Ukridge returned, that /sauve qui peut/ of the
railway crowd, the dreaded "Get in anywhere," began to be heard, and
the next moment an avalanche of warm humanity poured into the
carriage.

The newcomers consisted of a middle-aged lady, addressed as Aunty,
very stout and clad in a grey alpaca dress, skin-tight; a youth called
Albert, not, it was to appear, a sunny child; a niece of some twenty
years, stolid and seemingly without interest in life, and one or two
other camp-followers and retainers.

Ukridge slipped into his corner, adroitly foiling Albert, who had made
a dive in that direction. Albert regarded him fixedly and
reproachfully for a space, then sank into the seat beside me and began
to chew something that smelt of aniseed.

Aunty, meanwhile, was distributing her substantial weight evenly
between the feet of the Irish gentleman and those of his daughter, as
she leaned out of the window to converse with a lady friend in a straw
hat and hair curlers, accompanied by three dirty and frivolous boys.
It was, she stated, lucky that she had caught the train. I could not
agree with her. The girl with the brown hair and the eyes that were
neither blue or grey was bearing the infliction, I noticed, with
angelic calm. She even smiled. This was when the train suddenly moved
off with a jerk, and Aunty, staggering back, sat down on the bag of
food which Albert had placed on the seat beside him.

"Clumsy!" observed Albert tersely.