He talks of trains arriving that ne'er start; Of trains that seem to start and ne'er arrive; Of junctions where no union is effected: Of coaches meeting trains that never come; Of trains to catch a coach that never goes; Of trains that start after they have arrived; Of trains arriving long before they leave. He bids us "see" some page that can't be found. Henceforth take me not "Bradshaw" for your guide. (_Curtain._) [Illustration: AN ILLUSTRATION BY LEECH FOR "BRADSHAW: A MYSTERY," IN "PUNCH."] [Illustration: GOLDEN BARS] A STORY OF THE AFRICAN TREASURE. BY MAX PEMBERTON. I. They were talking of treasure in the parlour of the Three Tuns at Gravesend--old salts, every one of them, to whom five hundred pounds a year had been riches beyond desire. The precise inspiration of their eloquence chanced to be the money which had been smuggled out of Africa at the time of the war. Some said that it was all banked in France and Holland; others declared that a few paltry millions had gone to America. In the heat of the argument pipes were broken and glasses overturned. Gilbert Lorimer, a young officer on a Scotch tramp, who had been ashore on his captain's business, smiled often and said little; but he corrected old Crabb of the Margate service, and drew down upon himself that worthy's wrath thereby. "There's more nonsense than not talked about a million of money," the captain had remarked, sententiously. The others agreed. Had anyone bestowed such a trifle upon them, they would have been at no loss how to handle it. "I'd pop my lot in the Savings Bank," said Billy of the wherry, in parsimonious solemnity. Jack the waterman, however, declared that he would ferry his across the river and leave it to-morrow with the lawyers. Then the sage and learned Skipper Crabb delivered himself of the oracle. "A million weighs close upon five tons," said he. "More than ten," exclaimed Gilbert Lorimer, quietly. "Ah, here's Crɶsus," was the captain's sly retort, "and I dare say," he put it familiarly to Gilbert, "that you are very much at home with sums like that. Suppose you make it champagne, young man?" Gilbert laughed drily. He was a fine specimen of a sailor, and he would have been called handsome by the women in spite of the scar upon his cheek--an ugly gash which seemed to have a history behind it. A little reserved and proud, he had listened to the talk of money with some contempt; but the captain's challenge drew him out, and he rang the bell impatiently for the barman. "Champagne, by all means," he said, "since the next that I shall drink will be in Sydney. As to your million, I know nothing about it; but I once owned some large part of one. What's more, I was careless enough to lose it."