"I am not going back," he said briefly. Then he smiled, a little mechanically, and initiated a discussion on compound locomotives.
Presently his attention was caught by some occurrence at the other end of the compartment. He laughed.
"My daughter appears to be pressing her companionship upon your friend with a distressing lack of modesty," he said.
I turned. The Freak had installed his admirer in the corner-seat beside him, and, having found paper and pencil, was engaged in turning out masterpieces of art at her behest. With a flat suitcase for a desk, he was executing--so far as the Great Eastern Railway would permit him--a portrait of Miss Welwyn herself; his model, pleasantly thrilled, affectionately clasping one of his arms in both of hers and breathing heavily through her small nose, which she held about six inches from the paper.
Finally the likeness was completed and presented.
"Now draw a cow," said Miss Welwyn immediately.
The Freak meekly set to work again.
Then came the inevitable question.
"What's her name?"
The artist considered.