ON THE INADVISABILITY OF FOLLOWING ADVICE
I was pacing the Euston platform late one winter's night, waiting
for the last train to Watford, when I noticed a man cursing an
automatic machine. Twice he shook his fist at it. I expected every
moment to see him strike it. Naturally curious, I drew near softly.
I wanted to catch what he was saying. However, he heard my
approaching footsteps, and turned on me. "Are you the man," said
he, "who was here just now?"
"Just where?" I replied. I had been pacing up and down the platform
for about five minutes.
"Why here, where we are standing," he snapped out. "Where do you
think 'here' is--over there?" He seemed irritable.
"I may have passed this spot in the course of my peregrinations, if
that is what you mean," I replied. I spoke with studied politeness;
my idea was to rebuke his rudeness.
"I mean," he answered, "are you the man that spoke to me, just a
minute ago?"
"I am not that man," I said; "good-night."
"Are you sure?" he persisted.
"One is not likely to forget talking to you," I retorted.
His tone had been most offensive. "I beg your pardon," he replied
grudgingly. "I thought you looked like the man who spoke to me a
minute or so ago.
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