[Tomkins bursts into a cold perspiration.
Suburban Hospitality. Scene—A mile and a half to the railway station, on a bitter winter's night.
Genial Host (putting his head out of doors). Heavens! what a night! Not fit to turn a dog out! (To the parting guest.) Well, good-night, old chap. I hope you find your way to the station.
A LUXURIOUS HABIT
Philanthropist (to railway porter). "Then what time do you get to bed?"
Porter. "Well, I seldom what yer may call gets to bed myself, 'cause o' the night trains. But my brother, as used to work the p'ints further down the line, went to bed last Christmas after the accident, and never——"