"Going on, sir?" he asked.
"Goin' on? Of course I am. What in thunder d'ye think I'm stannin' here for?" demanded the captain.
"But if you stand there, sir, you'll get left," said the official good-humoredly.
"Better get in, John, an' don't argy with the gentleman," said Mrs.
Stump.
Her husband obeyed, grudgingly. The inspector examined his ticket, and
Royson's, and locked the door.
"Nice thing!" grumbled Stump. "I can't give you a good-by hug now,
Becky."
This was literally true. The captain's breadth of beam had never been contemplated by the designers of South-Eastern railway carriages. Even when the door was open, he had to enter sideways, and the brass rail across the window rendered it a physical impossibility to thrust head and shoulders outside.
The shrill whistle of a guard was answered by a colleague.
"Take care of yourself, John," said Becky.
"No fear! And mind you wait till the 'bus stops to-night. The other evening—"