The window went up again with a bang, the man with the parcel dug the guard in the ribs with his elbow, and the parcel slipped from under his arm and fell on the platform.
"Oh my! oh my! Me fish!" exclaimed the man, solicitously picking up a remarkably good-looking salmon that had slipped from its wrapping of newspaper.
Inspiration came to me, and I, in my turn, opened my window and summoned the station-master.
Would his friend sell me the salmon? The stationmaster entered upon the mission with ardour, but without success.
No; the gentleman was only just after running down to the town for it in the delay, but why wouldn't I run down and get one for myself? There was half-a-dozen more of them below at Coffey's, selling cheap; there would be time enough, the mail wasn't signalled yet.
I jumped from the carriage and doubled out of the station at top speed, followed by an assurance from the guard that he would not forget me.
Congratulating myself on the ascendancy of the Personal Element, I sped through the soapy limestone mud towards the public-houses. En route I met a heated man carrying yet another salmon, who, without preamble, informed me that there were three or four more good fish in it, and that he was after running down from the train himself.
"Ye have whips o' time!" he called after me. "It's the first house that's not a public-house. Ye'll see boots in the window—she'll give them for tenpence a pound if ye're stiff with her!"
I ran past the public-houses.
"Tenpence a pound!" I exclaimed inwardly, "at this time of year! That's good enough."