to deny this, but we resented its truth and
availed ourselves of a true-born free Briton's right to doubt the
wisdom of those in authority. We all, in short, looked as though
we knew better than engine-driver, signalman or guard. That is our
_metier_.

Some moments, which, as in all delays on the line, seemed like hours,
passed and nothing happened. Looking out I saw heads and shoulders
protruding from every window, with curiosity stamped on all their
curves.

"They should tell us what's the matter," said an impatient man.
"That's one of the stupid things in England--no one ever tells you
what's wrong. No tact in this country--no imagination."

We all agreed. No imagination. It was the national curse.

"And yet," said another man with a smile, "we get there."

"Ah! that's our luck," said the impatient man. "We have luck far
beyond our deserts." He was very cross about it.

Again the first man to speak hoped it was not an accident; and again
the second man, fearing that someone might have missed it, repeated
the old jest about presence of mind and absence of body.

"Talking of presence of mind," said a man who had not yet spoken,
emerging from his book, "an odd thing happened to me not so very long
ago--since the War--and, as it chances, happened in a railway carriage
too--as it might be in this. It is a story against a friend of mine,
and I hope he's wiser now, but I'll tell it to you."

We had not asked for his story but we made ourselves up to listen.

"It was during the early days of the War," he said, "before some of us
had learned better, and my friend and I were travelling to the North.
He is a very good fellow, but a little hasty, and a little too much
disposed to think everyone wrong but himself. Opposite us was a man
hidden behind a newspaper, all that was visible of him being a huge
pair of legs in knickerbockers, between which was a bag of golf-clubs.

"My friend at that time was not only suspicious of everyone's
patriotism but a deadly foe of golf. He even went so far as to call it
Scotch croquet and other contemptuous names. I saw him watching the
clubs and the paper and speculating on the age of the man, whose legs
were, I admit, noticeably young, and he drew my attention to him
too--by nudges and whispers. Obviously this was a shirker.

"For a while my friend contented himself with half-suppressed snorts
and other signs of disapproval, but at last he could hold himself in
no longer. Leaning