The Tragedy Of A Week

"Porter!"

"Yes, sir."

"What time does this train leave Liverpool?"

The man who had a trolley-load of lamps to clean before he went off duty, and who was not in the best of tempers, was on the point of giving a curt reply when he caught the gleam of silver between the questioner's fingers. He pulled up short and touched his hat.

"Should have left at five, sir, but she was 15 minutes late. She's bringing some boat passengers, I think, sir."

His questioner, a tall, black-bearded man, heavily clad in a long ulster, nodded, and consulted a piece of pink paper which he held in his right hand.