“I’m going on to London,” he said. “Nasty time to get in—three in the morning. I hate it. No one about. Night cabs and milk carts, police and market wagons. People at the hotel always sleepy. Ah! Here we are at Westernbow.”
For the train was stopping, and when it did draw up at the platform the old gentleman was roused up by the young lady, and they got out and left us alone.
“Ha! Ha!” said my companion, “that’s better. Give us room to stretch our legs. Do you bet?”
“No,” I said, “never.”
“Good, lad! Don’t; very bad habit. I do; I’ve lots of bad habits. But I was going to say, I’ll bet you an even half-crown that we don’t have another passenger from here to London.”
“I hope we shall not,” I said as I thought of a nap on the seat.
“So do I, sir—so do I,” he said, nodding his head quickly. “I vote we lie down and make the best of it—by and by. Have a cigar first?”
“Thank you; I don’t smoke,” I said.
“I do. Will you excuse me if I have a cigar? Not a smoking carriage—more comfortable.”
I assured him that I should not mind; and he took out a cigar, lit it, and began to smoke.