jilting of the cheesemonger) caused
him less prolonged suffering than might otherwise have been the case.

He was a man from whom I derived a good deal of amusement one way and
another. Thinking of him brings back to my mind a somewhat odd incident.

One afternoon, I jumped upon his 'bus in the Seven Sisters Road. An
elderly Frenchman was the only other occupant of the vehicle. "You vil
not forget me," the Frenchman was saying as I entered, "I desire Sharing
Cross."

"I won't forget yer," answered the conductor, "you shall 'ave yer Sharing
Cross. Don't make a fuss about it."

"That's the third time 'ee's arst me not to forget 'im," he remarked to
me in a stentorian aside; "'ee don't giv' yer much chance of doin' it,
does 'ee?"

At the corner of the Holloway Road we drew up, and our conductor began to
shout after the manner of his species: "Charing Cross--Charing Cross--'ere
yer are--Come along, lady--Charing Cross."

The little Frenchman jumped up, and prepared to exit; the conductor
pushed him back.

"Sit down and don't be silly," he said; "this ain't Charing Cross."

The Frenchman looked puzzled, but collapsed meekly. We picked up a few
passengers, and proceeded on our way. Half a mile up the Liverpool Road
a lady stood on the kerb regarding us as we passed with that pathetic
mingling of desire and distrust which is the average woman's attitude
towards conveyances of all kinds. Our conductor stopped.

"Where d'yer want to go to?" he asked her severely--"Strand--Charing
Cross?"

The Frenchman did not hear or did not understand the first part of the
speech, but he caught the words "Charing Cross," and bounced up and out
on to the step. The conductor collared him as he was getting off, and
jerked him back savagely.

"Carn't yer keep still a minute," he cried indignantly; "blessed if you
don't want lookin' after like a bloomin' kid."

"I vont to be put down at Sharing Cross," answered the Frenchman, humbly.

"You vont to be put down at Sharing Cross," repeated the other bitterly,
as he led him back to his seat. "I shall put yer down in the middle of
the road if I 'ave much more of yer. You stop there till I come and
sling yer out. I ain't likely to let yer go much past yer Sharing Cross,
I shall be too jolly glad to get rid o' yer."

The poor Frenchman subsided, and we jolted on. At "The Angel" we, of
course, stopped. "Charing Cross," shouted the conductor, and up sprang
the Frenchman.

"Oh