"Caulderon," — I said. "Thomas Caulderon."
"Of course! Mr. Stone, this is the Rev. Mr. Caulderon."
Stone looked as though it had been on the tip of his tongue to say, "Oh, yeah?" His fresh-complexioned face glowered behind the pince-nez. But he responded like a gentleman, inclining his head gravely and making a slight gesture with the cigar.
"Glad to meet you, sir," he said gruffly. "You'll have to excuse my language; I was a little startled at seeing you. Sit down. Put your bag up on the rack. This young lady's been very worried about you, and she's been looking all over the train for you. Where have you been?"
"Only in the lavatory," I said affably. "These things-ah-take time, you know."
This was a mistake. Considering my extremely pontificial Manner, I realized instantly that it was a mistake. There was another silence. My fellow-pastor did not exactly look up from The Times; but I felt a sort of aura as his eyes slid sideways. He was very leisurely; he folded up his paper, and seemed to consider for a time; then he got up, went slowly out of the compartment, and pulled the door shut after him. We had not got rid of him, since his luggage remained in the rack above the seats, but the air of tensity had been lifted from that compartment.
Evelyn sat back in the corner..
"Well, Ken," she said meekly.
"Well," I said, "you got yourself into it after all, didn't you?"
She remained meek, but her eyes were dancing. "Honestly, old boy, wasn't it the only thing to do? Seriously, now. If by any chance you'd failed to appear tomorrow, you know what would have happened, don't you? Whereas now that we're both in it