"'Yes, but I'm not a gentleman of my age,' he growled, mistaking the imbecile statement for repartee.
"'I beg your pardon,' said I. 'I was judging by appearances. Is that the Saturday Slasher you have there?'
"He shook himself impatiently. 'No, it is not.'
"'I beg your pardon,' said I. 'I was again judging by appearances. May I ask what it is?'
"'Threepenny Bits!' he jerked back.
"'What's that?' I asked. 'I know Broken Bits.'
"'This is a superior edition of Broken Bits at the price indicated by the title. It contains the same matter, but is issued at a price adapted to the means of the moneyed and intellectual classes. No self-respecting person can be seen reading penny weeklies—it throws doubt not only on his income, but on his mental calibre. The idea of this first-class edition (so to speak) should make the fortune of the proprietor, and deservedly so. Of course, the thousand pound railway assurance scheme is likewise trebled, though this part of the paper does not attract me personally, for my next-of-kin is a hypocritical young rogue. But imagine the horror of being found dead with a penny weekly in one's pocket! You can't even explain it away.'
"He had hardly finished the sentence before a terrible shock, as of a ton of dynamite exploding under the foot-warmer, lifted me into the air; the carriage collapsed like matchwood, and I had the feeling of being thrown into the next world. For a moment I recovered a gleam of consciousness, just enough to show me I was lying dying amid the débris, and that my companion lay, already dead, in a fragment of the compartment, Threepenny Bits clenched in his lifeless hand.
"With a last fond touch I smoothed my hair, which had got rather ruffled in the catastrophe, and extracting with infinite agony a puff from my pocket I dabbed it spasmodically over my face. I dared not consult my hand-mirror, I was afraid it would reveal a distorted countenance and unnecessarily sadden my last moments. Whatever my appearance, I had done my best for it, and I wanted to die with the consciousness of duty fulfilled. Murmuring a prayer that those who found my body would not imitate me in judging by appearances, if they should prove discreditable after all, I closed my eyes upon the world in which I had been so young and happy. My whole life passed in review before me, all my dearly loved bonnets, my entire wardrobe from infancy upwards. Now I was an innocent child with a white sash and pink ribbons, straying amid the sunny meadows and plucking the daisies to adorn my hats; anon a merry maiden sporting amid the jocund schoolboys and receiving tribute in toffy; then again a sedate virgin in original gowns and tailor-made jackets. Suddenly a strange idea jostled through the throng of bitter-sweet memories. Threepenny Bits!
"The old gentleman's next-of-kin would come in for three thousand pounds! I should die and leave nothing to my relatives but regrets; my generous brother would be forever inconsolable now, and my funeral might be mean and unworthy. And yet if the old misogynist had only been courteous enough to lend me the paper, seeing I had nothing to read, it might have been found on my body. De mortuis nil nisi bonum. Why reveal his breach of etiquette to the world? Why should I not enable him to achieve posthumous politeness! Besides, his heir was a hypocritical rogue, and it were a crime against society to place so large a sum at his disposal. Overwhelmed as I was by the agonies of death, I steeled myself to this last duty. I wriggled painfully towards the corpse, and stretching out my neatly-gloved fingers, with a last mighty effort I pulled the paper cautiously from the dead hand which lay heavy upon it. Then I clasped it passionately to my heart and died."