“Thank you for your advice,” he said, “but, as I was the only occupant of the compartment”
Here there was an interruption. A tall, erect man, white-haired and well dressed, came up with a quick, firm tread, and, taking a half-crown from his waistcoat-pocket with his gloved forefinger and thumb, he threw it down on the counter. The clerk promptly picked it up and touched his cap.
“Look alive, now!” said this prosperous person, in a brisk, authoritative tone. “Find me a black morocco Gladstone, with gold fastenings,—left in the 3.30 to-day. Be quick about it!”
“Since you seem in haste, I concede you the precedence,” said the shabby gentleman, as the clerk scuttled off; and he made a gesture so lofty condescending as to contrast oddly with his poor attire and insignificant stature.
“I really beg your pardon!” exclaimed the other, facing round with a quick, inquiring look on his firm-set and handsome face. “Were you here before me?”
“Here’s two black morocco Gladstones, sir” began the clerk, from the back of the office.
“Give me the one with ‘Snowden Mayne’ on it in gold letters,—yes, that's it.”
“Servant, sir,” replied the clerk, who was, in his sphere, a judge of human nature. He put the bag down on the counter. The owner would have taken it up; but there was a thin white hand already upon it,—the hand of the shabby gentleman with the deep-set eyes. These eyes now met the keen, surprised glance of Mr. Snowden Mayne.
“I think this is mine,” said the latter, after a moment.
An odd smile played about the face of the shabby gentleman. He still kept his hand on the bag.
“I don’t question it, but" he said, and stopped. His face grew paler, and his smile became more forced.
“I fear I'm dull,—or you may have made some mistake,” said the other, with a touch of impatience in his voice. The shabby gentleman removed his hand. “I look like some acquaintance of yours, perhaps,” continued the owner of the bag, more kindly. “But as I landed in England only two days ago”
“After an absence of over twenty years in America,” interposed the shabby gentleman.
The other stared. “I never pretended to understand enigmas,” he said, at length.
“You’re not much changed, Snowden, in some ways,” was the reply. “And, though you don’t recognize me, I'm less changed in other ways than you seem to be.” There was now a gleam of something like boyish playfulness on his worn visage. He went on half laughingly, but with a tremor in his voice, “ Maybe if I mentioned Caius College ’twould refresh your memory a bit!”
Snowden Mayne gave a start, hesitated, and shook his head.
“Oh, man alive!” cried the other, in a deeper tone, “I'll bring you to your bearings!—Mildred Gordon!”
Mayne’s blue eyes brightened and widened: there followed a passing
