"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 enquire into it."
At that moment a porter came up.
"Did you give up your ticket, Sir?" he asked Herbert.
"I hadn't time to get one," said Herbert, quite at his ease. "I'll pay now," and he began to feel in his pockets.... The train moved out of the station.
A look of horror came over Herbert's face. I knew what it meant. He hadn't any money on him. "Hi!" he shouted to me, and then we swung round a bend out of sight....
Well, well, he'll have to get home somehow. His watch is only nickel and his cigarette case leather, but luckily that sort of thing doesn't weigh much with station-masters. What they want is a well-known name as a reference. Herbert is better off than I was: he can give them my name. It will be idle for them to pretend that they have never heard of me.