A Bed of Roses

by Walter Lionel George

'No thanks. Don't want to be run in.'

'Have a match then.' The young man held up a two inch vesta. 'What price that, eh? pinched 'em from the Troc' last night.'

'You are a toff, Bertie,' said Victoria with unction. 'I'll have it as a keepsake.' She took it and stuck it in her belt.

Bertie leaned over to his neighbour. 'It's a mash,' he said confidently.

'Take her to Kew,' said his friend, 'next stop Brighton.'

'Can't run to it, old cock,' said the youth. 'However we shall see.'

'Vic, Vic,' whispered Neville. But Victoria had passed him quickly and was answering Mr Stein.

'Vat you mean by it,' he growled, 'making de gentleman vait for his ticket, gn?'

'Beg your pardon, Mr Stein, I did nothing of the kind. The gentleman was making me wait while he talked to his friend.'

Victoria could now lie coolly and well. Stein looked at her savagely and slowly walked away along the gangway between the tables, glowering from right to left, looking managerially for possible complaints.