"Doesn't matter what it means," she said sharply, "so long as you've done nothing wrong. Pull yourself together, Mr. Langham. Why don't you knock off the drink, and be a man?"

"I'll go and get some now."

"It will do you no good. You've been in the habit of taking it when you didn't need it, and you've spoilt it as a remedy. Stay here for a while, and calm yourself."

"Bad enough," he complained, "when living people begin to track you about, but when the others start doing it--!" He shivered. Gertie went to the parlour, and asked her aunt to make some coffee.

"Has Lady Dougla.s.s gone away yet?"

"Now why, apropos of nothing, should you mention her name?"

"You never did have much sense about you, and now you seem to have none at all. Concentrate your mind. Think! What was the question I put to you?" He admitted he could not recall it, and she repeated the inquiry.

"Leaves early to-morrow morning," he answered; "that is partly why I have come up to town. I don't want to see her again before she goes."

Jim Langham rested elbows on the counter, and covered eyes with his hands. "Have you ever," he asked, "in the course of your existence, met with a bigger fool than me?"

"To be quite candid," said Gertie, "I don't think I have."

She fetched the cup from the back room, and brought it to him. He sipped at the hot beverage, and appeared to recover.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked courteously.

She laughed. "This is half a tobacconist's shop!"

"Quite so," remarked Jim Langham, taking a cigar from his case. "I say," he went on confidentially, taking the movable gas jet, "do you know anything about the Argentine?"

"Mr. Trew might tell you something about it if he were here. I don't take any interest in horse-racing."

"It's a place in South America," he said. "I've an idea of getting out there, and making a fresh start. But I'm in the state of mind that prevents me from knowing how to set about it. It would be a great kindness on your part to give me some a.s.sistance."

"I want all the money I've saved up."

He placed his hand in his waistcoat pocket and pulled out sovereigns.

Gertie, taking a newspaper, turned the pages to find the shipping advertis.e.m.e.nts.

"'The R. M. S. P.,'" she read. "I thought that meant you had to reply to an invitation. Oh, I see. Royal Mail Steam Packet. Here's the address. There's a boat leaving to-morrow. Would you like to catch that?"

"The earlier the better," he cried. "I must get away at once. Now, who can do it all?"

A lad came for a packet of cigarettes, and, as Gertie served him, Mr.

Trew entered the doorway; his cheerful salutation caused Jim Langham to start. Trew announced, joyously, that he was up to the neck in trouble; for failing to see a young constable's warning in Oxford Street, he had been suspended from duty for a period of three days.

"As I told him, if a driver took notice of all the baby hands held up, why the 'bus would never reach Victoria. Howsomever, here I am; my own master for a time, and ready to make myself generally useless. What about a half-day excursion to Brighton to-morrow, little missy?"

"This, Mr. Trew, is Mr. Langham."

"I don't get on over and above first cla.s.s," he said, "with a certain relative of yours, sir, but I never met a family yet that was all alike. Some white sheep in every flock."

Gertie explained Jim Langham's requirements, and Trew, placing his hat upon the counter, and admitting himself to be something of an authority on matters connected with the sea, brought his best intelligence to bear upon the subject. It was too late, he decided, to go down that evening to the steamship office, but a telegram might be sent, asking for a berth to be reserved, and Mr. Langham could go to the docks in the morning.

"It is absolutely imperative," declared the other urgently, "that I leave at the first possible moment."

"If the worst comes to the worst," said Mr. Trew, "you can ship as a stowaway. You come up on deck, third day out, and kneel at the captain's feet and sing a song about being an orphan. That, of course, would be a last resource."

Gertie discovered a telegram form, and on the instructions of Mr. Trew, filled it in; and Jim Langham a.s.sured her that he was more obliged than he could express in words. Mr. Trew left to arrange the dispatch of the message.

"I count myself extremely fortunate," said the other, "to have encountered you, Miss Higham. If you hear anything against me later on, I--I should feel grateful if you thought the best of me that you can. I wish," he went on, with an anxious air, "I wish I knew how to repay you."

"Don't make a fuss about trifles," she recommended.

He gazed at a picture of a well-attired youth smoking a cigar.

"I was a decent chap once," he said thoughtfully, "but that was long ago. Look here, Miss Higham! Henry--you know Henry?"

"I did know him." Turning her face away.

"He will be at Paddington Station tomorrow morning at ten. See him there. Put off every other engagement, and see him."

"There will be no use in doing that."

"There may be," he contradicted earnestly. "You've been very hard hit over this business, and I happen to know he wants to meet you, only that he is afraid of appearing intrusive. At ten o'clock at the arrival platform. May I say good-bye now? G.o.d bless you. I haven't much influence with Him, but I--I hope He'll be good to you!"

She came from behind the counter, and accompanied him to the swing doors.

"Whose ghost was it you thought you saw, Mr. Langham?"

"I must have been mistaken," he replied vaguely. "A shame to have worried you!"

All the comedy in life and some of the tragedy can be found at London railway stations, and only the fact that members of the staff are well occupied prevents them from furnishing shelves of bookstalls with records of their observation. The cla.s.ses are there (an effort is being made to cancel one useful intermediate stage), presenting themselves, for the most part, in a highly-agitated condition of mind, with the result that officials acquire the methods of those who deal with the mentally unhinged; show themselves prepared for any display of eccentricity. Ever, as in life, you remark the people who arrive too soon, or too late; a few lucky ones come in the very nick of time. The last named are favourites, selected with no obvious reason by Fortune, and greatly envied by their contemporaries; it is usual for them to claim the entire credit to themselves. Apart from these, at the terminal stations where no barriers exist, are folk who make but little affectation of being pa.s.sengers, and use the station as a playground, with engine and train for toys.

To Paddington at a quarter to ten in the morning came hurriedly, although there was no cause for hurry, Gertie Higham, escorted by Mr.

Trew, both exceptionally costumed as befitting a notable occasion.

Gertie's escort had a pair of driving-gloves, and he could not determine whether it looked more aristocratic to wear these or to carry them with a negligent air; he compromised on the departure platform by wearing one and carrying the other. The collector-dog trotted up with the box on his back, and both put in some coppers. They glanced at the giant clock.

"I wish," she said agitatedly, "that I could skip half an hour of my life."

"When you get to my age, little missy," remarked Trew, "you won't talk like that. Speaking personally, I can fairly say that if it wasn't for these new motors I sh'd like to live to be a 'underd. Now, let's jest make sure and certain about this train."

"I thought we had done so."

"May as well be on the safe side."

Mr. Trew left her at the bookstall to go on a journey in search of verification. She observed that he obtained news first from a junior porter, and worked upwards in the scale, with the evident intention of obtaining at last corroborative evidence from a director. The girl turned, and, gazing at the rows of books, found she could not read the t.i.tles clearly. One of the lads of the stall came with a book in his hand, recommending it to her notice; written by a new chap, he mentioned confidentially, and highly interesting. Gertie pulled herself together, and gave attention.

"Thank you," she said, "but it's the work of a cousin of mine."

The lad put Clarence Mills's novel down, and took up a pocket edition of "Merchant of Venice."