clean-shaven space between Wilkinson’s elaborate side-whiskers.  But the pedagogue, in his suavest manner, remarked that Cicero, in his De Natura Deorum, makes Cotta call the common herd both fools and lunatics, whose opinion is of no moment whatever.  “Why, then,” he asked, “should we trouble our minds with what it pleases them to think?  It is for us to educate public opinion—­to enlighten the darkness of the masses.  Besides, if you look about, you will see that those who are doing the giggling are girls, sir, positively girls.”

“Your hand on that, Farquhar, my boy; if it keeps the hussies off, I’ll wear a knapsack every day of my life.”

Coristine did not know where he was going, being subject to the superior wisdom and topographical knowledge of his companion, who appeared in the row that besieged the window of the ticket office.  “Two for Belle Ewart,” he demanded, when his turn came.

“Trains don’t run to Belle Ewart now; you had better take Lefroy, the nearest point.”

“All right; two for Lefroy.”

The ticket agent looked at the attire of the speaker, and was about to produce the cardboard slips, then hesitated as he glanced at the straps and the top of the black erection on Wilkinson’s shoulders, and enquired, “Second class, eh?” The dominie was angry, his face crimsoned, his hand shook with indignation.  Being a moral man, he would not use bad language, but he roared in his most stentorian academic tone, a tone which appalled the young agent with rapid visions of unfortunate school days, “Second Tom-cats!  Does the company put you there to insult gentlemen?” It was the agent’s turn to redden, and then to apologize, as he mildly laid the tickets down, without the usual slap, and fumbled over their money.  The feminine giggling redoubled, and Coristine, who had regained his equilibrium, met his friend with a hearty laugh, and the loud greeting, “O Lord, Wilks, didn’t I tell you the fools would be taking us for bagmen?” But Wilkinson’s irritation was deep, and he marched to the incoming train, ejaculating, “Fool, idiot, puppy; I shall report him for incivility, according to the printed invitation of the company.  Second! ach!  I was never so insulted in my life.”

There was room enough inside the car to give the travellers a double seat, half for themselves and the other for their knapsacks.  These impedimenta being removed the occupants of the carriage became aware that they were in the company of two good-looking men, of refined features, and in plain but gentlemanly attire.  The lady passengers glanced at them, from time to time, with approbation not unmingled with amusement, but no responsive glance came from the bachelors.  Wilkinson had opened his knapsack, and had taken out his pocket Wordsworth, the true poet, he said, for an excursion.  Coristine had a volume of Browning in his kit, but left it there, and went into the smoking-car for an after breakfast whiff.  The car had been