III.

Upon the previous evening Mr. Bob Chater had led the conversation. To-
night he was indisposed for the position--would not take it despite
his mother's desperate attempts to board the train of his ideas and by
it be carried to scenes of her son's adventures. A dozen times she
presented her ticket; as often Bob turned her back at the barrier.

It was a rare event this refusal of his to carry passengers. So loudly
did he whistle as a rule as to attract all in the vicinity, convinced
that there was an important train by which it would be agreeable to
travel.

For Mr. Bob Chater was a loud young man, emanating a swaggering air
that the term "side" well fitted. To have some conceit of oneself is
an excellent affair. The possession is a keel that gives to the craft
a dignified balance upon the stream of life--prevents it from being
sailed too close to mud; helps maintain stability in sudden gale.
Other craft are keelless--they are canoes; bobbing, unsteady, likely
to capsize in sudden emergency; prone to drift into muddy waters;
liable to be swept anywhither by any current. Others, again--and Mr.
Bob Chater was of these--are over-freighted upon one quarter or
another: they sail with a list. Amongst well-trimmed boats these learn
in time not to adventure, since here they are greeted with ridicule or
with contempt; yet among the keelless fleets they have a position of
some authority; holding it on the same principle as that by which
among beggars he who has a coin--even though base--is accounted king.

Bob Chater's list was ego-wards. His mighty "I"--I am, I do, I say, I
know, I think--bulged from him, hanging from his voice, his glance,