work occupied much of my spare time, but it supplemented my income, a consideration of no little importance, for in October, 1876, I had entered the married state. My wife came from the Midlands of England. My friends became her friends, and other friends we made. Children soon appeared on the scene; my bachelor days were over.

Societies amongst the staff of a railway company, whether for the purpose of physical recreation, for mutual improvement or for social enjoyment are to be much commended. The assembling together of employees of various ages, filling various positions, from the several departments, from different districts, freed from business, and mixing on equal terms for common objects, promotes good feeling and good fellowship, provides pleasant memories for after life, gives a zest to work, and adds to the efficiency of the service.

Amongst all my fellow clerks I remember one only who resembled as a borrower some of my quondam associates at Derby. But this was in Scotland where more provident ways prevailed. He was a married man, about 30 years of age, with a salary of £100 a year. By no means what one would call a nice fellow, he had nothing of the bonhomie or light-hearted good nature that distinguished my Derby friends. He possessed a good figure, wore fierce moustaches, and affected a military air. One suit of well-made, well-cut clothes by some means or other he managed to keep in a state of freshness and smoothness nothing short of marvellous. Borrowing was his besetting sin, and he was always head over ears in debt. Duns pursued him to the office and he sometimes hid from them in a huge safe which the office contained. It was a wretched life, but he brazened it out with wonderful effrontery, and, outwardly, seemed happy enough. From all who would lend he borrowed, and rarely I believe repaid. Once I was his victim, but only once. I lent him £3, and, strange to say, he returned it. Of course he approached me again, but I had read and digested the master’s wisdom and determined to “neither a borrower nor a lender be.”

Prominent amongst the principal clerks was David Cooper. When I left Glasgow he succeeded me as assistant to the general manager. Now he is general manager of the company himself. Recently he celebrated his 50th year of railway service. Like me, he entered railway life in 1867; but,

unlike me, has not been a rolling stone. One company only he has served and served it well, and for nearly a quarter of a century has filled the highest office it has to bestow. He and I have been more fortunate than many of our old-time colleagues. In the list of officers of the Glasgow and South-Western to-day I see the names of two only, besides David Cooper, who were principal clerks in those days—F. H. Gillies, now secretary of the company, and George Russell, Telegraph Superintendent.

In railways, as in other departments of life, ability and industry usually have their reward; but alone they do not always command success. Other factors there are in the equation of life and not least luck and opportunity. In those distant days, in the pride of youth, I was too apt to think that they who succeeded owed their success to themselves alone; but the years have taught me that this is not always so, and I have learned to sympathise more and more with those to whom opportunity has never held out her hand and upon whom good luck has never smiled.

CHAPTER XII.
TOM

In the last few chapters I have made but little mention of Tom. The time was drawing nearer when I was to lose him for ever. Until early in 1876 we lived together in the closest intimacy. We pooled our resources, and when either ran short of money, which often happened, the common purse, if it were not empty, was always available. Similar in height and in figure, our clothes, except our hats, boots and gloves, in each of which I took a larger size than he, were, when occasion required, interchangeable. We standardised our wardrobe as far as we could. We rose together, ate together, retired together, and, except during business hours, were rarely apart. I being, he considered, the more prudent in money matters, kept our lodging accounts and paid the bills. He being more musical, and a greater lover of the drama than I, arranged our visits to the theatres and concert halls. I was the practical, he the æsthetical controller of our joint menage. Once I remember—this occurred before we left Derby—we both fancied ourselves in love with the same dear enchantress, a certain dark-eyed brunette. Each punctually paid his court, as opportunity offered, and each, when he could, most obligingly furthered the suit of the other; and this went on till the time arrived for Tom’s departure to Glasgow, when I was left in possession of the field. Then I discovered, to my surprise, that I was not so deeply enamoured as I had imagined; and, curiously enough, Tom on his part had no sooner settled in Scotland than he made a similar discovery.

The climate of Glasgow never suited Tom’s health and in 1876, on the advice of his doctors, he decided to return to England. For a time he seemed to regain his health, but only for a time. Soon he relapsed, and before another year dawned it became evident, if not to himself, to his friends, that his years on earth were numbered. With what grief I heard the news, which came to me from his parents, I need not say. Bravely for a while he struggled with work, but all in vain; he had to give in, and return to his parents’ home in Lincolnshire. That home he never again left, except once, in the summer of 1877, to visit my wife and me, when he stayed with us for several weeks. Though greatly reduced and very thin, and capable only of short walks he was otherwise unchanged; the lively fancy, the bright humor and the sparkling wit, which made him so delightful a companion, were scarcely diminished. He himself was hopeful; talked of recovery, planned excursions which he and I should take together when his health returned; but his greatest pleasure was in recalling our Derby days, our Maypole visits, our country rambles, our occasional dances and flirtations, and our auld acquaintances generally.

Tom was remarkable for the quickness of his observation, for keen penetration of character, and for happy humorous description of particular traits in those he met. He possessed, too, a wonderfully retentive memory. It is largely due to his lively descriptions of our interesting fellow clerks at Derby that I have been able, after the lapse of half a century, to sketch them with the fidelity I have. His humorous accounts of their peculiarities often enlivened the hours we spent together, and impressed their personalities more forcibly on my mind than they otherwise would have been.