XIV. 



THE FELLOW-PASSENGER 



(A Tragedy of the Train). 



I HAD missed the L15 p.m. train to Hitchin by 

 about two minutes, and was consequently forced 

 to kick my heels for over an hour at King's Cross, 

 a station which possesses most of the qualities 

 essential to success in a railway terminus, but 

 has few of the attributes calculated to render it 

 a perfect lounge. A careful inspection of the 

 glass cases filled with primeval specimens of the 

 British pastry-cook's art which vrere on exhi- 

 bition in the refreshment-room soon resigned me 

 to the thought of relying for my frugal luncheon 

 upon such condiments as I could extract from 

 the various automatic slot-machines A\ith which 

 the station was liberally furnished. A brief 

 experience of the waiting-rooms robbed me of 

 any desire to extend my sojourn in those sinister 

 apartments, while the consciousness of being re- 

 garded with suspicion by a minion of the Travel- 

 lers' Aid Society for Friendless Girls imbued 

 me with a distaste for loitering on the platforms 



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