Harrison, you've no idea how comfortable it is in this corner.'

'Punctuality,' said Babington, 'is the politeness of princes.'

And again the unknown maddened Harrison with a 'best-on-record' grin.

'But, I say, you chaps,' said he, determined as a last resource to
appeal to their better feelings (if any), 'Mace was keeping this seat
for me, while I went to get some grub. Weren't you, Mace?' He turned to
Mace for corroboration. To his surprise, Mace was nowhere to be seen.

His sympathetic school-fellows grasped the full humour of the situation
as one man, and gave tongue once more in chorus.

'You weed,' they yelled joyfully, 'you've got into the wrong carriage.
Mace is next door.'

And then, with the sound of unquenchable laughter ringing in his ears,
Harrison gave the thing up, and relapsed into a disgusted silence. No
single word did he speak until the journey was done, and the carriage
emptied itself of its occupants at the Junction. The local train was in
readiness to take them on to St Austin's, and this time Harrison
managed to find a seat without much difficulty. But it was a bitter
moment when Mace, meeting him on the platform, addressed him as a
rotter, for that he had not come to claim the corner seat which he had
been reserving for him. They had had, said Mace, a rattling good time
coming down. What sort of a time had Harrison had in _his_
carriage? Harrison's reply was not remarkable for its clearness.

The unknown had also entered the local train. It was plain, therefore,