ickie settled himself down for his little
journey. First he looked at the coloured photographs. Then he read the
directions for obtaining luncheon-baskets, and felt the texture of the
cushions. Through the windows a signal-box interested him. Then he saw
the ugly little town that was now his home, and up its chief street the
Ansells' memorable facade. The spirit of a genial comedy dwelt there. It
was so absurd, so kindly. The house was divided against itself and yet
stood. Metaphysics, commerce, social aspirations--all lived together in
harmony. Mr. Ansell had done much, but one was tempted to believe in a
more capricious power--the power that abstains from "nipping." "One nips
or is nipped, and never knows beforehand," quoted Rickie, and opened the
poems of Shelley, a man less foolish than you supposed. How pleasant
it was to read! If business worried him, if Stephen was noisy or Ansell
perverse, there still remained this paradise of books. It seemed as
if he had read nothing for two years. Then the train stopped for the
shunting, and he heard protests from minor officials who were working on
the line. They complained that some one who didn't ought to, had mounted
on the footboard of the carriage. Stephen's face appeared, convulsed
with laughter. With the action of a swimmer he dived in through the open
window, and fell comfortably on Rickie's luggage and Rickie. He declared
it was the finest joke ever known. Rickie was not so sure. "You'll be
run over next," he said. "What did you do that for?"

"I'm coming with you," he giggled, rolling all that he could on to the
dusty floor.

"Now, Stephen, this is too bad. Get up. We went into the whole question
yesterday."

"I know; and I settled we wouldn't go into it again, spoiling my
holiday."

"Well, it's execrable taste."

Now he was waving to the Ansells, and showing them a piece of soap:
it was all his luggage, and even that he abandoned, for he flung it at
Stewart's lofty brow.

"I can't think what you've done it for. You know how strongly I felt."

Stephen replied that he should stop in the village; meet Rickie at the
lodge gates; that kind of thing.

"It's execrable taste," he repeated, trying to keep grave.

"Well, you did all you could," he exclaimed with sudden sympathy.
"Leaving me talking to old Ansell, you might have thought you'd got your
way. I've as much taste as most chaps, but, hang it! your aunt isn't the
German Emperor. She doesn't own Wiltshire