"I had rather hoped that YOU would do something." "You can buy another ticket, and get the money back afterwards." "Yes, yes; but can I? I've only got about one pound six." "The fare to London is one pound five and tenpence ha'penny." "Ah; well, that leaves a penny ha'penny to be divided between the porter this end, lunch, tea, the porter the other end, and the cab. I don't believe it's enough. Even if I gave it all to the porter here, think how reproachfully he would look at you ever afterwards. It would haunt you." The station-master was evidently moved. He thought for a moment, and then asked if I knew anybody who would vouch for me. I mentioned Herbert confidently. He had never even heard of Herbert. "I've got a tie-pin," I said (station-masters have a weakness for tie-pins), "and a watch and a cigarette case. I shall be happy to lend you any of those." The idea didn't appeal to him. "The best thing you can do," he said, "is to take a ticket to the next station and talk to them there. This is only a branch line, and I have no power to give you a pass." So that was what I had to do. I began to see myself taking a ticket at every stop and appealing to the station-master at the next. Well, the money would last longer that way, but unless I could overcome quickly the distrust which I seemed to inspire in station-masters there would not be much left for lunch. I gave the porter all I could afford--a ha'penny, mentioned apologetically that I was coming back, and stepped into the train. At the junction I jumped out quickly and dived into the sacred office. "I've left my ticket on the dressing--that is to say I forgot--well, anyhow I haven't got it," I began, and we plunged into explanations once more. This station-master was even more unemotional than the last. He asked me if I knew anybody who could vouch for me--I mentioned Herbert diffidently. He had never even heard of Herbert. I showed him my gold watch, my silver cigarette case, and my emerald and diamond tie-pin--that was the sort of man I was. "The best thing you can do," he said, walking with me to the door," is to take a ticket to Plymouth and speak to the station-master there--" "This is a most interesting game," I said bitterly. "What is 'home'? When you speak to the station-master at London, I suppose? I've a good mind to say 'Snap!'" Extremely annoyed I strode out, and bumped into--you'll never guess--Herbert! "Ah, here you are," he panted; "I rode after you--the train was just going--jumped into it--been looking all over the station for you." "It's awfully nice of you, Herbert. Didn't I say good-bye?" "Your ticket." He produced it. "Left it on the dressing-table." He took a deep breath. "I told you you would." "Bless you," I said, as I got happily into my train. "You've saved my life. I've had an awful time. I say, do you know, I've met two station-masters already this morning who've never even heard of you. You must inquire into it."