soon and abruptly frustrated by a tall, well-dressed and
pompous man who came striding down the platform while we idled by the
door, and thrusting past us almost before we could give way, entered the
compartment, dropped into a corner seat, tossed his copy of _The Times_ on
to the seat opposite, took off his top-hat, examined it, replaced it when
satisfied of its shine, drew out a spare handkerchief, opened it, flicked
a few specks of dust from his patent-leather boots, looked up while
reaching across for _The Times_, recognised me with a nod and a "Good
morning!" and buried himself in his paper.

I on my part, almost before glancing at his face, had recognised him by
his manner for a personage next to whom it has been my lot to sit at one
or two public banquets. I will call him Sir John Crang. He is a
K.C.M.G., a Colonial by birth and breeding, a Member of Parliament, and a
person of the sort we treat in these days with consideration. Since the
second year of Jubilee (in which he was knighted) he and his kind have
found themselves at ease in Sion, and of his kind he has been perhaps the
most fortunate. In his public speeches he alludes to himself humorously
as a hustler. He has married a wealthy lady, in every other respect too
good for him, entertains largely at dinners which should be private but
are reported in the press, and advocates conscription for the youth of
Great Britain. Upon conscription for his native colony, as upon any other
of its duties towards Imperial defence, if you question him, you will find
him sonorously evasive.

The Infant, accustomed to surprise at the extent of my acquaintance,
gazed at him politely for a moment as we took our seats and the train
moved out of the station. I noted a veiled disapproval in his eye as he
picked up a newspaper, and at that moment Verinder, who had picked up
another, emitted a noise not unlike the snort of the engine as it gathered
speed. I glanced at him in some apprehension. Verinder's bearing toward
strangers is apt to be brutal, and by an instinct acquired as his
companion on old reading-parties I was prepared to be apologetic.

His ill-humour, however, had nothing to do with Sir John Crang. He had
laid the newspaper across his knee, and was pointing to it with a scornful
forefinger.

"Look here," he said. "Do you remember a talk we had some years ago--you
and I and Grayson? It started in D--'s shop one afternoon after a Kent
and Middlesex matc