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“So, that’s me!… That’s me!… You cheated me out of the fourpence,” cried the conductor.

“But,” said the florid gentleman, “the other lady gave you sixpence.”

“Which I give to her,” replied the conductor. He pointed again his finger at the elder lady. “You can search my bag if you like. I do not have that sixpence on me!”

By this time everybody had forgotten what they had done, and contradicted themselves and one another. The conductor had called a policeman and had taken the names and addresses of the two ladies, intending to sue them for the fourpence (which they wanted to pay, but which the florid man did not allow them to do). The younger lady became convinced that the elder lady wanted to cheat her, and the elder lady was in tears.

The florid gentleman and myself continued to Charing Cross Station. At the booking office window I learned that we were buying the tickets for the same station, and we journeyed together. He talked about the fourpence all the way.

At my gate we shook hands, and he expressed delight at the discovery that we were neighbours. What attracted him to myself I did not understand, because he had bored me considerably. Later I learned that he was charmed with anyone who did not openly insult him.

Three days afterwards he burst into my study.

“I met the postman as I was walking,” he said, and gave me a blue envelope, “and he gave me this, for you.”

I saw it was an application for the water-rate.

“But look,” he continued. “That’s for water to the 29th September. You’ve no right to pay it in June.”

I replied that I must pay water-rates, and that it not important whether I pay in June or September.

“That’s not it,” he answered, “it’s the principle of the thing. Why will you pay for water you have never had? That’s not fair! You pay for what you don’t owe!”

He was a good talker, and I was silly enough to listen to him. By the end of half an hour he had persuaded me that the question was connected with the rights of man, and that if I pay that fourteen and tenpence in June instead of in September, I will be unworthy of my parents.

He showed me that the company was absolutely wrong, and I sat down and wrote an insulting letter to the chairman.

The secretary replied that they would treat it as a test case, and presumed that my solicitors would accept service on my behalf.

When I showed him this letter he was delighted.

“You leave it to me,” he said, “and we’ll teach them a lesson.”

I left it to him. My only excuse is that at the time I was very busy. I was writing a play. The little sense that I possessed, I suppose, was absorbed by the play.

The magistrate’s decision damped my words, but he became even more courageous. Magistrates, he said, were old fools. This was a matter for a judge.

The judge was a kindly old gentleman, and said he did not think he could allow the company their costs, so that, I paid only fifty pounds: original fourteen and tenpence.

Afterwards our friendship waned, but we were living in the same suburb, I saw him quite often.