"He's the proper little Fat," said the engineer. "I'll get Will Dyson draw a special cartoon of him for the Leader."
Ruth preened an imaginary moustache in mockery of her brother-in-law.
"I'm the Managing Director of Caspar's Touring Syndicate, I am, and don't you forget it!" she said with a smirk.
"Where's he off to now?"
"Brighton, I believe, with the Colonel. Some meeting of the League," replied Ernie dully.
Just then Mr. Geddes joined them, and the four moved on to the platform.
The train came in and Alf disappeared into it.
A few minutes later the Colonel passed the barrier. He marked the little group on the platform and at once approached them.
Something unusual about the men struck him at once. All three had about them the generally degagé air of those on holiday bent. The minister wore a cap instead of the habitual wide-awake; and carried a rucksack on his back. Joe swung a parcel by a string, and Ernie had an old kit-bag slung across his shoulder. Rucksack, parcel, and kit-bag were all distinguished by a red label. The Colonel stalked the party from the rear and with manifold contortions of a giraffe-like neck contrived to read on the labels printed in large black letters, ADULT SCHOOL PEACE PARTY. Then he speared the engineer under the fifth rib with the point of his stick.
"Well, what y'up to now?" he asked sepulchrally.