the last cry is heard of "Mornin' papers—'Times,' ''Vertiser,' ' Mor'n Post,' 'Punch,' ''Lustrated Noos!'"—the whistle is sounded the strong-minded old gentleman, who is determined to have all that he pays for, and has gulped down his boiling soup or coffee, in true Salamander fashion, rushes wildly at the locked carriage doors—the feeble-visioned old lady bewilders the porters with incoherent inquiries—the engine gives a few convulsive snorts, like the hippopotamus rising from his bath—and off she goes!
So far so good! But this is only the first part of the danger overcome. Mr. Percival Wylde must bear in mind that the old proverb advises him not to give vent to vociferations until he has emerged from the forest: and the dangers of the Didcot Junction have yet to be surmounted. Dangers they were, and had liked to have proved fatal to the case of the æger man.
The Old Boy, with a perversity peculiarly aggravating, had got into a carriage that was going on to Bristol, and out of which, therefore, he had to get at the Didcot Junction; while Mr. Percival Wylde, with a tenacity of purpose that was well nigh his ruin, had seated himself in a carriage that was going through to Oxford. This carriage was one of those peculiar to the Great Western line—divided into two compartments communicating with each other; and what was Mr. Percival Wylde's horror on seeing his father deliberately advancing to this carriage! He had barely time to pass into the second compartment (which was empty), and pull-to the door of communication, when his father stepped into the other compartment, and ensconced himself on the very seat that he had so lately occupied. "This is all very well," thought Percie, as he drew a long breath; "but, suppose the Old Boy
