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Yes, it was very cold. Arthur now noticed the cold. Strange–or rather not strange–that he had not noticed it before! He lit the gas stove, which exploded with its usual disconcerting plop, and a marvellously agreeable warmth began to charm his senses. He continued his dressing as near as possible to the source of this exquisite warmth. Then Simeon, in his leisurely manner, arose out of bed without a word, put his feet into slippers and lit the gas.

“I never thought of that,” said Arthur, laughing nervously.

“Shows what a state you’re in,” said Simeon.

Simeon went to the window and peeped out into the silence of Trafalgar Road.

“Slight mist,” he observed.

Arthur felt a faint return of the pincers and anvil.

“But it will clear off,” Simeon added.

Then Simeon put on a dressing-gown and padded out of the room, and Arthur heard him knock at another door and call:

“Mrs Hopkins, Mrs Hopkins!” And then the sound of a door opening.

“She was dressed and just going downstairs,” said Simeon when he returned to their bedroom. “Breakfast ready in ten minutes. She set the table last night. I told her to.”

“Good!” Arthur murmured.

At sixteen minutes past six they were both dressed, and Simeon was showing Arthur that Simeon alone knew how to pack a trunk. At twenty minutes past six the trunk was packed, locked and strapped.

“What about getting the confounded thing downstairs?” Arthur asked.

“When the porter comes,” said Simeon, “he and I will do that. It’s too heavy for you to handle.”

At six twenty-one they were having breakfast in the little dining-room, by the heat of another gas-stove. And Arthur felt that all was well, and that in postponing their departure till that morning in order not to upset the immemorial Christmas dinner of their Aunt Sarah, they had done rightly. At half-past six they had, between them, drunk five cups of tea and eaten four eggs, four slices of bacon, and about a pound and a half of bread. Simeon, with what was surely an exaggeration of imperturbability, charged his pipe, and began to smoke. They had forty minutes in which to catch the Loop-Line train, even if it was prompt. There would then be forty minutes to wait at Knype for the London express, which arrived at Euston considerably before noon. After which there would be a clear ninety minutes before the business itself–and less than a quarter of a mile to walk! Yes, there was a rich and generous margin for all conceivable delays and accidents.

“The porter ought to be coming,” said Simeon. It was twenty minutes to seven, and he was brushing his hat.

Now such a remark from that personification of calm, that living denial of worry, Simeon, was decidedly unsettling to Arthur. By chance, Mrs Hopkins came into the room just then to assure herself that the young men whose house she kept desired nothing.

“Mrs Hopkins,” Simeon asked, “you didn’t forget to call at the station last night?”

“Oh no, Mr Simeon,” said she; “I saw the second porter, Merrith. He knows me. At least, I know his mother–known her forty year–and he promised me he wouldn’t forget. Besides, he never has forgot, has he? I told him particular to bring his barrow.”

It was true the porter never had forgotten! And many times had he transported Simeon’s luggage to Bleakridge Station. Simeon did a good deal of commercial travelling for the firm of A. & S. Cotterill, teapot makers, Bursley. In many commercial hotels he was familiarly known as Teapot Cotterill.

The brothers were reassured by Mrs Hopkins. There was half an hour to the time of the train–and the station only ten minutes off. Then the chiming clock in the hall struck the third quarter.

“That clock right?” Arthur nervously inquired, assuming his overcoat.

“It’s a minute late,” said Simeon, assuming his overcoat.

And at that word “late,” the pincers and the anvil revisited Arthur. Even the confidence of Mrs Hopkins in the porter was shaken. Arthur looked at Simeon, depending on him. It was imperative that they should catch the train, and it was imperative that the trunk should catch the train. Everything depended on a porter. Arthur felt that all his future career, his happiness, his honour, his life depended on a porter. And, after all, even porters at a pound a week are human. Therefore, Arthur looked at Simeon.