ever been across.
Nothing risked--a dull life. Mine has been altogether too dull. I am now
most certainly going by the Tube."

A bit of the old fire lit up his eyes.

"Same old Bob," he grunted as I rose, and then he grasped my hand with a
grin.

"Good luck, my boy, on your journey, and may old Vulcan be out on a
vacation when you pass his door."

Thus we said good-by. I did not know then that I would never see him
again--that he also took the train that night in order to make one last
plea to the International Committee, and so laid down his life with the
passengers for whom he had pleaded.

It was with many conflicting thoughts, however, that I hurried to the
great Terminus that fatal night, where after being ticketed,
photographed and tabulated by an efficient army of clerks, I found
myself in due time, being ushered to my car of the train.

* * * * *

For the benefit of those who have never ridden upon the famous "Flier,"
I could describe the cars no better than to say that coming upon them by
night as I did, they looked like a gigantic, shiny worm, of strange
shape, through whose tiny port-holes of heavy glass in the sides, glowed
its luminous vitals.

I was pompously shown to the front car, which very much resembled a
tremendous cartridge--as did all of the other segments of this great
glow-worm.

Having dismissed the porter with a tip and the suspicion that my having
the front car was the work of my friend, who was willing to give me my
money's worth of thrill, and that the porter was aware of this, I stowed
away my bags and started to get ready for bed. I had no sooner taken off
my coat than the door was opened and an old fellow with a mass of silver
hair peered in at me.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I understand you have engaged this car
alone?"

"Yes."

"I can get no other accommodations tonight. You have an extra berth
here and I must get to Paris tomorrow. I will pay you well--"

I smiled.

"Take it. I was beginning to feel lonesome, anyway."

He bowed gravely and ordered the porter to bring in his things. I
decided he was a musician. Only artists go in for such lovely hair. But
he undressed in dignified silence, not casting so much as another glance
in my direction, while on my part I also forgot his presence when,
looking through the port-hole, I realized that the train had begun to
move. Soon the drone of the propelling engines began to make itself
hea