* *

The gloom of the station was lightened on the following morning at ten
minutes to eleven when Mr. Garnet arrived to catch the train to
Axminster, by several gleams of sunshine and a great deal of bustle
and movement on the various platforms. A cheery activity pervaded the
place. Porters on every hand were giving their celebrated imitations
of the car of Juggernaut, throwing as a sop to the wounded a crisp "by
your leave." Agitated ladies were pouring forth questions with the
rapidity of machine guns. Long queues surged at the mouths of the
booking offices, inside which soured clerks, sending lost sheep empty
away, were learning once more their lesson of the innate folly of
mankind. Other crowds collected at the bookstalls, and the bookstall
keeper was eying with dislike men who were under the impression that
they were in a free library.

An optimistic porter had relieved Garnet of his portmanteau and golf
clubs as he stepped out of his cab, and had arranged to meet him on
No. 6 platform, from which, he asserted, with the quiet confidence
which has made Englishmen what they are, the eleven-twenty would start
on its journey to Axminster. Unless, he added, it went from No. 4.

Garnet, having bought a ticket, after drawing blank at two booking
offices, made his way to the bookstall. Here he inquired, in a loud,
penetrating voice, if they had got "Mr. Jeremy Garnet's last novel,
'The Maneuvers of Arthur.'" Being informed that they had not, he
clicked his tongue cynically, advised the man in charge to order that
work, as the demand for it might be expected shortly to be large, and
spent a shilling on a magazine and some weekly papers. Then, with ten
minutes to spare, he went off in search of Ukridge.

He found him on platform No. 6. The porter's first choice was, it
seemed, correct. The eleven-twenty was already alongside the platform,
and presently Garnet observed his porter cleaving a path toward him
with the portmanteau and golf clubs.

"Here you are!" shouted Ukridge. "Good for you. Thought you were going
to miss it."

Garnet shook hands with the smiling Mrs. Ukridge.

"I've got a carriage," said Ukridge, "and collared two corner seats.
My wife goes down in another. She dislikes the smell of smoke when
she's traveling. Let's pray that we get the carriage to ourselves. But
all London seems to be here this morning. Get in, old horse. I'll just
see her ladyship into her carriage and come back to you."