“Heaven forbid!”
“You’ve got to throw off dull care and be merry and bright. Give us a yarn.”
“You give us,” retorted the middle-aged man, testily, “a little peace and quietness.”
“Then let’s have a riddle.”
“I’ll riddle you,” threatened the man, “if you can’t leave off badgering. Talk to one of the others. I’m tired of you.”
“He loves me, he loves me not.” Counting the ends of the window strap and throwing them away when the last gave a negative reply. “All my old friends seem to be deserting me since I come into a bit of money. Does any one want to borrow a five-pound note? Don’t all speak at once!”
The compartment seemed disinclined to talk; willing, indeed, to allow him to monopolise the conversation. He increased his efforts, and presently an anecdote told concerning a lady of his acquaintance goaded one into making the statement that the joke had appeared in print over and over again.
“Very well,” said the young blade, “then let somebody else have a go.” Somebody else did now accept the invitation, and ere the train was free of the last streets of town conversation became general, and he had to raise his voice in order to preserve for himself the lead.
“You can’t tell me nothing I don’t know about London,” he shouted. “I’ve lived there for the last three years, and I reckon I’m more of a Londoner than any one who was born there. Look ’ere; we can soon put it to the test. How many comic songs of the present day have any of you got in your repertoire? What about you, uncle?”
“My young friend,” protested the middle-aged man, “I have met, in my time, a good many bounders of all shapes and sorts and sizes, but you are the limit. Why don’t you behave yourself quietly when you’re in the presence of your betters?”