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Updated: May 17, 2025
"How was it that you were not relieved at Clayborough? I thought there was always a change of guards at Clayborough." "There used to be, sir, till the new regulations came in force last midsummer; since when, the guards in charge of express trains go the whole way through." The chairman turned to the secretary.
"I am for Clayborough," I replied, holding out the tiny pink card. He took it, glanced at it by the light of his little lantern, gave it back, looked, as I fancied, somewhat sharply at my fellow-traveller, and disappeared. "He did not ask for yours," I said, with some surprise. "They never do," replied Mr. Dwerrihouse; "they all know me, and of course I travel free." "Blackwater!
Sebastopol had fallen in the early spring, the peace of Paris had been concluded since March, our commercial relations with the Russian empire were but recently renewed; and I, returning home after my first northward journey since the war, was well pleased with the prospect of spending the month of December under the hospitable and thoroughly English roof of my excellent friend, Jonathan Jelf, Esq., of Dumbleton Manor, Clayborough, East Anglia.
Langford fell asleep in the train on the occasion of his journey to Clayborough, and dreamed an unusually vivid and circumstantial dream, of which, however, we have now heard quite enough." There are few things more annoying than to find one's positive convictions met with incredulity. I could not help feeling impatience at the turn that affairs had taken.
"Tell you what it is, Langford," he said, as we sped along between the wintry hedges," I do not much fancy to bring up Dwerrihouse's name at Clayborough. All the officials know that he is my wife's relation, and the subject just now is hardly a pleasant one. If you don't much mind, we will make the 11:10 to Blackwater.
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