catch the train to
Combe Regis, by several gleams of sunshine and a great deal of bustle
and activity on the various platforms. A porter took my suitcase and
golf-clubs, and arranged an assignation on Number 6 platform. I bought
my ticket, and made my way to the bookstall, where, in the interests of
trade, I inquired in a loud and penetrating voice if they had got
Jeremy Garnet's "Manoeuvres of Arthur." Being informed that they had
not, I clicked my tongue reproachfully, advised them to order in a
supply, as the demand was likely to be large, and spent a couple of
shillings on a magazine and some weekly papers. Then, with ten minutes
to spare, I went off in search of Ukridge.

I found him on platform six. The eleven-twenty was already alongside,
and presently I observed my porter cleaving a path towards me with the
suit-case and golf-bag.

"Here you are!" shouted Ukridge vigorously. "Good for you. Thought you
were going to miss it."

I shook hands with the smiling Mrs. Ukridge.

"I've got a carriage and collared two corner seats. Millie goes down in
another. She doesn't like the smell of smoke when she's travelling.
Hope we get the carriage to ourselves. Devil of a lot of people here
this morning. Still, the more people there are in the world, the more
eggs we shall sell. I can see with half an eye that all these blighters
are confirmed egg-eaters. Get in, sonnie. I'll just see the missis into
her carriage, and come back to you."

I entered the compartment, and stood at the door, looking out in the
faint hope of thwarting an invasion of fellow-travellers. Then I
withdrew my head suddenly and sat down. An elderly gentleman,
accompanied by a pretty girl, was coming towards me. It was not this
type of fellow traveller whom I had hoped to keep out. I had noticed
the girl at the booking office. She had waited by the side of the queue
while the elderly gentleman struggled gamely for the tickets, and I had
had plenty of opportunity of observing her appearance. I had debated
with myself whether her hair should rightly be described as brown or
golden. I had finally decided on brown. Once only had I met her eyes,
and then only for an instant. They might be blue. They might be grey. I
could not be certain. Life is full of these problems.

"This seems to be tolerably empty, my dear Phyllis," said the elderly
gentleman, coming to the door of the compartment and looking in.
"You're sure you don't object to a smoking-carriage?"