Story 4.
Chapter One.
Eighteen Hours with a “Kid.”
(Copy of a holiday letter from Gus. Cutaway, of the Upper Remove, Shellboro’, to his particular chum and messmate. Joseph Rackett):—
Dear Jossy,—If you want a motto in life, I’ll give you one—“’Ware kids!” Don’t you have anything to do with kids, unless you want to lose all your pocket money, and be made a fool of before the fellows, and get yourself in a regular high old mess all round.
You needn’t think I don’t know what I’m talking about. I do. Promise you’ll never say a word to anybody, especially to any of the fellows, and I’ll tell you.
It was on breaking-up day. You know, all of you went off by the 2 train, and I had to wait till the 3:15. That’s the worst of going through London; the trains never go at the right time. It came in up to time, for a wonder, and I bagged a second-class carriage to myself, and laid in some grub and a B.O.P. and made up my mind to enjoy myself.
What do you think? Just as the bell was ringing, a female with a kid rushed on to the platform and made a dive for my carriage. I can tell you I was riled. But that wasn’t half of it.
“Are you going to Waterloo, young gentleman?” asks the female, as out of breath as you like.
“Yes—why?” said I.