"Half-a-sovereign if you catch the 9.30 at Liverpool Street," said Jim to the cabman.
"Right, sir!" said the cabby, joyously.
But the roads were slippery, and travelling was bad. Horses steamed and plunged, drivers lashed and swore--and Jim's cab made slow progress.
At last the cabby found an opening and dashed forward. But, alas! he had just got up speed, when his horse stumbled and fell, and could not regain its feet, despite its frantic struggles.
Jim leapt out nimbly. "Hard luck, cabby!" he said. "Here's your half-sov."
"You're a gentleman, sir," returned the driver, touching his hat as he went to undo the prostrate nag's harness.
Jim took a fresh cab, and caught his train with a minute to spare. He welcomed this journey, for the rapid motion suited him to a nicety. This was better than brooding in his surgery--this was action, life, excitement. The country was anxiously awaiting news of the great statesman's illness--and Jim was to help in the drama. The operation would not be performed, Jim knew, until he arrived at Lord Lingfield's residence ... and the train whirled on, and Jim, though sore at heart--for was not Dora to be married on the morrow?--derived great comfort from Sir Savile's call.
The train sped on, and Jim's thoughts raced along with it. His brain and the mighty engine kept stride for stride.
"To-morrow! To-morrow!" sang the whirling wheels.
As the meadows, streams, and woods came into view and as quickly passed out again, so the events of the last few months presented themselves panorama-wise to Jim's mind. The tea-shop--the dainty girl with the fairest face in the world--he in raptures, with Koko soberly listening--the vacation--the return--the introduction--the fight at the Exhibition--his grandfather's letter--No. 9--the surgery in Mount Street--and ... that night in the Crescent! Ah, that one kiss! ...