There was a deeply interested gathering in one of the large offices of the Waterloo Station, where a clerk in his shirt-sleeves was seated beneath a gas-jet making entries, what time two porters, also in shirt-sleeves, and by the light of other gas-jets, seemed to be engaged in a game of “Catch.” They were, however, not displaying their deftness with balls, but with small packets, parcels, baskets, bundles of fishing-rods, and what seemed to be carefully done-up articles fresh from tradespeople’s shops. The game seemed to consist of one porter taking a packet from a great basket upon wheels, and saying something before he jerked it rapidly to the other porter, who also said something and deposited the packet in another basket on wheels; while, apparently, the clerk at the desk where the gas-jet fluttered and whistled as it burned, carefully noted the score in a book. Further inspection, however, showed the casual observer that the men were not at play, but busy manipulating parcels and preparing them for despatch to their various destinations. The business came to a standstill all at once, as a couple of guards just off duty, and an inspector and ticket-collector, came sauntering in, chatting loudly one to the other about some incident that had just taken place upon the platform.
“Ah, you fellows get all the fun,” said the clerk, sticking his pen behind his ear, and slewing round his tall stool, as the guards made themselves comfortable, one upon a wine-hamper, and the other upon an upturned box; while the ticket-collector seated himself upon the edge of a huge pigeon-hole, which necessitated his keeping his body in a bent position, something after the fashion of that held by occupants of the pleasant dungeon known in the Tower as “The Little Ease.”
“Well, we get all the rough as well,” said one of the guards, “and some ugly customers too.”
“Regular ’lopement, then?” said one of the porters, scratching his ear with a piece of straw.
“Regular, my lad,” said one of the guards. “You saw the gent before, didn’t you, George?”
“Yes; he was walking up and down the platform for half an hour first,” said the ticket-collector. “I hadn’t noticed the other, because he was outside the gate waiting.”
“Well, tell us all about it,” said the clerk.
“Oh, there ain’t much to tell,” said the guard who had spoken first. “I saw the girl get in at Lympton, regular stylish-looking body, nice figure, closely veiled. I thought it meant sixpence perhaps; and took her bag, and ran and opened a first-class, when she quite staggered me as she says: ‘Third class, please.’ Well, of course that made me notice her more than once, as we stopped coming up, and I could see that she had been crying and was in trouble.”
The little party grew more interested and drew closer.
“Somehow, I couldn’t help seeing that there was something wrong, for she tried to avoid being noticed, squeezing herself up in the corner of the compartment, and then being very fidgety at every station we stopped at, till I slapped my leg as I got into the break, and says to myself: ‘She’s off!’”