The carriage was empty. Rickie 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.” “You ass!” sputtered Rickie, who had taken to laugh at nonsense again. “No, she isn’t,” he repeated, blowing a kiss out of the window to maidens. “Why, we started for Wiltshire on the wet morning!” “When Stewart found us at Sawston railway station?” He smiled happily. “I never thought we should pull through.” “Well, we _didn’t_. We never did what we meant. It’s nonsense that I couldn’t have managed you alone. I’ve a notion. Slip out after your dinner this evening, and we’ll get thundering tight together.”