Is played, and he wishes himself bisected
When his Muse's lays come back—rejected!
STORICULES.
III.—THE DEAR OLD LADY.
There were three of them in the railway-carriage. One was a Stockbroker; one was a Curate; one was an Old Lady. They had been strangers to each other when they started; but it was near the end of the journey, and they were chatting pleasantly together now. One could see that the little Old Lady was from the country; she was exquisitely neat and simple in appearance; there was an air of primness about her which one rarely sees in a city product. She carried a big bunch of hedgerow flowers. She seemed to be a little nervous about travelling, and still more nervous about encountering the noise and confusion of the great city. She had asked the Stockbroker and Curate a good many questions about the sights that she ought to see, and how much she ought to pay the cabman, and which were the best shops. "Not but what TOM will look after me," she explained; "Tom's a very good son to me, and he'll be waiting on the platform for me. And such a boy as he was too when he was younger! Fruit! There wasn't anything that boy wouldn't do to get it—any kind of mischief." She grew garrulous on the subject of Tom's infancy. The two men answered her questions, and listened amusedly to her chatter. Occasionally they interchanged smiles. Presently the train got near to the station just before the terminus. The Curate warned the Old Lady that the tickets would be collected there.
"Thank you, Sir," she said, "for telling me. Then I must be getting my ticket ready. I've got it quite safely. Such a lot of money it did seem to pay for a ride to London! But TOM would have me come. He never forgets his old Mother." She undid her reticule and took out her purse; she undid the purse and took out a folded paper; she unfolded the paper and took out the ticket. Then she put the paper back in the purse, and the purse back in the reticule. She held the ticket gingerly between two fingers of her cotton-gloved hand, as if it were a delicate fruit, and she were afraid of rubbing the bloom off it.
"What a refreshing contrast to our city ways!" thought the Stockbroker.