. But his life had another
interest, which threatened rivalry to this intellectual pursuit. Humplebee
had set eyes upon the maiden destined to be his heart's desire; she was the
daughter of a fellow-clerk, a man who had grown grey in service of the
ledger; timidly he sought to win her kindness, as yet scarce daring to
hope, dreaming only of some happy change of position which might encourage
him to speak. The girl was as timid as himself; she had a face of homely
prettiness, a mind uncultured but sympathetic; absorbed in domestic cares,
with few acquaintances, she led the simplest of lives, and would have been
all but content to live on in gentle hope for a score of years. The two
were beginning to understand each other, for their silence was more
eloquent than their speech.

One summer day--the last day of his brief holiday--Humplebee was returning
by train from a visit to his mother. Alone in a third-class carriage,
seeming to read a newspaper, but in truth dreaming of a face he hoped to
see in a few hours, he suddenly found himself jerked out of his seat, flung
violently forward, bumped on the floor, and last of all rolled into a sort
of bundle, he knew not where. Recovering from a daze, he said to himself,
'Why, this is an accident--a collision!' Then he tried to unroll himself,
and in the effort found that one of his arms was useless; more than that,
it pained him horribly. He stood up and tottered on to the seat. Then the
carriage-door opened, and a voice shouted--

'Anybody hurt here?'

'I think my arm is broken,' answered Humplebee.

Two men helped him to alight. The train had stopped just outside a small
station; on a cross line in front of the engine lay a goods truck smashed
to pieces; people were rushing about with cries and gesticulations.

'Yes, the arm is broken,' remarked one of the men who had assisted
Humplebee. 'It looks as if you were the only passenger injured.' That
proved, indeed, to be the case; no one else had suffered more than a jolt
or a bruise. The crowd clustered about this hero of the broken arm,
expressing sympathy and offering suggestions. Among them was a well-dressed
young man, rather good-looking and of lively demeanour, who seemed to enjoy
the excitement; he, after gazing fixedly at the pain-stricken face,
exclaimed in a voice of wonder--

'By jove! it's Humplebee!'

The sufferer turned towards him who spoke; his eyes brightened, for he
recognised the face of Leonard Chadwick.