'What is it, Dick? Do say like a good fellow,' was repeated many times, but he refused to give any reply. This aroused the curiosity of the company, and it grew to burning pitch when the train drew up at a station and Dick began a conversation with the guard concerning the length of time they would have at Preston, and where they would find the train that was to take them on to Blackpool.

'You'll have a quarter of an hour's wait at Preston. You'll arrive there at 4.20 and at thirty-five past you'll find the train for Blackpool drawn up on the right-hand side of the station.'

'Thanks very much,' replied Dick as he tipped the guard; and then, turning his head towards his friends, he whispered, 'It's as right as a trivet; I shall be back in a minute.'

'Where's he off to?' asked everybody.

'He's just gone into the telegraph office,' said Montgomery, who was stationed at the window.

A moment after Dick was seen running up the platform, his big hat giving him the appearance of an American. As he passed each compartment of their carriage he whispered something in at the window.

'What can he be saying? What can he be arranging?' asked Miss Leslie.

'I don't care how he arranges it as long as I get a drink on the cheap at
Preston,' said Mortimer.

'That's the main point,' replied Dubois.

'Well, Dick, what is it?' exclaimed everybody, as the big man sat down beside Kate.

'The moment the train arrives at Preston we must all make a rush for the refreshment-rooms and ask for Mr. Simpson's lunch.'

'Who's Mr. Simpson? What lunch? Oh, do tell us! What a mysterious fellow you are!' were the exclamations reiterated all the way along the route. But the only answer they received was, 'Now what does it matter who Mr. Simpson is? Eat and drink all you can, and for the life of you don't ask who Mr. Simpson is, but only for his lunch.'

And as soon as the train stopped actors, actresses, chorus-girls and men, conductor, prompter, manager, and baggage-man rushed like a school towards the glass doors of the refreshment-room, where they found a handsome collation laid out for forty people.

'Where's Mr. Simpson's lunch?' shouted Dick.

'Here, sir, here; all is ready,' replied two obliging waiters.

'Where's Mr. Simpson's lunch?' echoed Dubois and Montgomery.

'This way, sir; what will you take, sir? Cold beef, chicken and ham, or a little soup?' asked half a dozen waiters.

The ladies were at first shy of helping themselves, and hung back a little, but Dick drove them on, and, the first step taken, they ate of everything. But Kate clung to Dick timidly, refusing all offers of chicken, ham, and cold beef.

'But is this paid for?' she whispered to him.

'Of course it is. Mr. Simpson's lunch. Take care of what you're sayin'. Tuck into this plate of chicken; will you have a bit of tongue with it?' and not having the courage to refuse, Kate complied in silence. Dick crammed her pockets with cakes. But soon the waiters began to wonder at the absence of Mr. Simpson, and had already commenced their inquiries.

Approaching Mortimer, the head waiter asked that gentleman if Mr. Simpson was in the room.

'He's just slipped round to the bookstall to get a Sunday paper. He'll be back in a minute, and if you'll get me another bit of chicken in the meantime I shall feel obliged.'

In five minutes more the table was cleared, and everybody made a movement to retire, and it was then that the refreshment-room people began to exhibit a very genuine interest in the person of Mr. Simpson. One waiter begged of Dick to describe the gentleman to him, another besought of Dubois to say at what end of the table Mr. Simpson had had his lunch. In turn they appealed to the ladies and to the gentlemen, but were always met with the same answer. 'Just saw him a minute ago, going up to the station; if you run after him you're sure to catch him.' 'Mr. Simpson? Why, he was here a minute ago; I think he was speaking about sending a telegram; perhaps he's up in the office.' The train bell then rang, and, like a herd in motion, the whole company crowded to the train. The guard shouted, the panic-stricken waiters tumbled over the luggage, and, running from carriage to carriage, begged to be informed as to Mr. Simpson's whereabouts.

'He's in the end carriage, I tell you, back there, just at the other end of the train.'

The seedy black coats were then seen hurrying down the flags, but only to return in a minute, breathless, for further information. But this could not last for ever, and the guard blew his whistle, the actors began gagging. And, oh, the singing, the whistling, the cheers of the mummers as the train rolled away into the country, now all agleam with the sunset! Tattoos were beaten with sticks against the woodwork of each compartment. Dick, with his body half out of the window and his curls blowing in the wind, yelled at Hayes. Montgomery disputed with Dubois for possession of the other window, and three chorus-girls giggled and, munching stolen cakes, tried to get into conversation with Kate. But though love had compensated her for virtue, nothing could make amends to her for her loss of honesty.