"I was up late last
night--turned out late this morning, been late all day,
somehow--couldn't catch up with the clock for the life of me.
Your statement to me last night--you know it rather
upset me."
The other smiled. "Well, I guess I know something about
that feeling myself. Why, I've been buzzing about today
like a hen with her head cut off. But it's fun, though,
aint it, eh? Just to happen to remember every once
in a while, you know, that it's all true! But of course
it means a thousand times more to me than it does to you."
The train had come to a stop inside the gloomy, domed cavern
of Cannon Street. Many men in silk hats crowded to and fro
on the platform, and a number of them shook the handle of
the locked door. There was an effect of curses in the sound
of their remarks which came through the closed window.
Mr. Thorpe could not quite restrain the impulse to grin at them.
"Ah, that's where you mistake," said Plowden,
contemplating the mouthful of smoke he slowly blew forth.
"My dear man, you can't imagine anybody to whom it would
mean more than it does to me--I hope none of those fellows
have a key. They're an awful bore on this train.
I almost never go by it, for that reason. Ah, thank God
we're off!--But as I was saying, this thing makes a greater
difference to me than you can think of.
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