[4]

HARRISON'S SLIGHT ERROR


The one o'clock down express was just on the point of starting. The
engine-driver, with his hand on the lever, whiled away the moments,
like the watchman in _The Agamemnon_, by whistling. The guard
endeavoured to talk to three people at once. Porters flitted to and
fro, cleaving a path for themselves with trucks of luggage. The Usual
Old Lady was asking if she was right for some place nobody had ever
heard of. Everybody was saying good-bye to everybody else, and last,
but not least, P. St H. Harrison, of St Austin's, was strolling at a
leisurely pace towards the rear of the train. There was no need for him
to hurry. For had not his friend, Mace, promised to keep a corner-seat
for him while he went to the refreshment-room to lay in supplies?
Undoubtedly he had, and Harrison, as he watched the struggling crowd,
congratulated himself that he was not as other men. A corner seat in a
carriage full of his own particular friends, with plenty of provisions,
and something to read in case he got tired of talking--it would be
perfect.

So engrossed was he in these reflections, that he did not notice that
from the opposite end of the platform a youth of about his own age was
also making for the compartment in question. The first intimation he
had of his presence was when the latter, arriving first at the door by
a short head, hurled a bag on to the rack, and sank gracefully into the