My vexation was great one morning, after one of these journeys home, when I missed the train to Dover, and my good comrades Massey and Tomlinson—by just a minute. Perhaps I should never see them again. They would be lost in the vortex.
“Take a special train,” said my wife.
The idea startled me, not having the mentality or resources of a millionaire.
“It’s worth it,” said my wife, who is a woman of big ideas.
I turned to the station master, who was standing at the closed gates of the continental platform.
“How long would it take you to provide a special train?”
He smiled.
“No longer than it would take you to pay over the money.”
“How much?”