The prospect was not a pleasant one; but I knew that R.T.O.'s are not infallible. Sometimes they have not the dimmest idea where trains are going. I left the office and wandered about the station until I found the officer in command of the train. He was a colonel, and I was, of course, a little nervous about addressing a colonel. But this colonel had kindly eyes and a sorrowful face. He looked like a man on whom fate had laid an intolerable burden. I threw myself on his mercy. "Sir," I said, "I want to go to B. I am ordered to report myself there. I am trying to take my servant with me. What am I to do?" That colonel looked at me with a slow, mournful smile. "This train," he said, "isn't supposed to go to B. You can't expect me to take it there just to suit you?" He waved his hand towards the train. It was enormously long. Already several hundred men were crowding into it. I could not expect to have the whole thing diverted from its proper course for my sake. I stood silent, looking as forlorn and helpless as I could. My one hope, I felt, lay in an appeal to that colonel's sense of pity. "We shall pass through T. to-morrow morning about 6 o'clock," he said. That did not help me much. I had never heard of T. before. But something in the colonel's tone encouraged me. I looked up and hoped that there were tears in my eyes. "T.," said the colonel, "is quite close to B. In fact it is really part of B., a sort of suburb." That seemed to me good enough. "Take me there," I said, "and I'll manage to get a taxi or something." "But," said the colonel, "my train does not stop at T. We simply pass through the station. But I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll slow down as we go through. You be ready to jump out. Tell your servant to fling out your valise and jump after it. You won't have much time, for the platform isn't very long, but if you're ready and don't hesitate you'll be all right." I babbled words of gratitude. The prospect of a leap from a moving train at 6 a.m. was exhilarating. I might hope that I should find my servant and my luggage rolling over me on the platform when I reached it. Then all would be well. The colonel, moved to further kindness by my gratitude, invited me to travel in a coach which was specially reserved for his use. The art of travelling comfortably in peace or war lies in knowing when to bully, when to bribe, and when to sue. Neither bullying nor bribing would have got me to B. If I had relied on those methods I should not have arrived there for days, should perhaps never have arrived there, should certainly have been most uncomfortable. By assuming the manner, and as far as possible the appearance, of a small child lost in London I moved the pity of the only man who could have helped me. But those circumstances were exceptional. As a general rule I think bullying and bribing are better ways of getting what you want on a journey.