was, he could not even tell
the porter how his luggage was to be labelled, and there was now
less than two minutes! He moved forward briskly, with the thought of
intercepting his friend at the front of the station; then halted, and
went back, upon the recollection that while he was going out one way,
Plowden might come in by the other. The seconds, as they passed now,
became severally painful to his nerves. The ringing of a bell somewhere
beyond the barrier provoked within him an impulse to tearful profanity.

Then suddenly everything was all right. A smooth-faced, civilly-spoken
young man came up, touched his hat, and asked: "Will you kindly show me
which is your luggage, sir?"

Thorpe, even while wondering what business of his it was, indicated the
glaringly new bags--and then only half repressed a cry of pleasure at
discovering that Lord Plowden stood beside him.

"It's all right; my man will look out for your things," said the latter,
as they shook hands. "We will go and get our places."

The fat policeman at the gate touched his helmet. A lean, elderly man
in a sort of guard's uniform hobbled obsequiously before them down the
platform, opened to them a first-class compartment with a low bow and a
deprecatory wave of the hand, and then impressively locked the door upon
them. "The engine will be the other way, my Lord, after you leave Cannon
Street," he remarked through the open window, with earnest deference.
"Are there any of your bags that you want in the compartment with you?"

Plowden had nodded to the first remark. He shook his head at the second.
The elderly man at this, with still another bow, flapped out a green
flag which he had been holding furled behind his back, and extended it
at arm's length. The train began slowly to move. Mr. Thorpe reflected to
himself that the peerage was by no means so played-out an institution as
some people imagined.

"Ho-ho!" the younger man sighed a yawn, as he tossed his hat into the
rack above his head. "We shall both be the better for some pure air.
London quite does me up. And you--you've been sticking at it months
on end, haven't you? You look rather fagged--or at all events you did
yesterday. You've smartened yourself so--without your beard--that I
can't say I'd notice it to-day. But I take it every sensible person is
glad to get away from London."

"Except for an odd Sunday, now and then, I haven't put my nose outside
London since I landed here." Thorpe rose as