'Of course I might have reserved this compartment by half-a-crown to the man, or by booking in advance. But I never tip railway servants. I consider tipping railway servants a sign of weakness in a traveller. You don't find a man who has pranced over a dozen continents tipping railway servants. He would prefer to ride on the buffer. He would rather walk the distance on his head. He would rather eat hard-boiled eggs all his life for breakfast, dinner, and supper. Why should you tip a railway official? Do you tip a soldier on the battle-field when he has fired each round? And yet a soldier fires at the enemies of his country, and the railway official only facilitates your chances of being smashed in a railway accident. There is some sense in giving a cabman more than his fare, for some time or another he may have the opportunity of running over you. But why tip a railway porter? Miss Gordon, do you think a man, when he is lashed to a gun and about to be blown from it, ought suddenly to put his hand in his pocket, and sing out to the man with the fuze or trigger-line, "Hallo, Corporal Bosco, here's sixpence to drink my health when the job is done!"?'
'I don't see how he could put his hand in his pocket if he were very securely lashed.'
'I did not say "very securely" lashed. I said "lashed." But suppose I grant you the pocket, and put the thing to you in another way? By Jove, we're off at last! Ah, this solitude is delightful. Only three stops on the way down. I think you ought to pass a vote of thanks to me for securing ourselves against intrusion. Come, we'll put Osborne in the chair, and give him a casting vote. What makes you look so blue, Osborne? Only for me you never could have had this _otium cum dignitate_. Suppose you had undertaken to keep this compartment, you would have known no other way of doing it than of crawling up servilely to the guard, touching your hat to him, and tipping him half-a-dollar-crown, I mean. I don't see why a man of no intellect like you should be allowed to fatten on my genius. Why should you, like the gentlemen of England, sit in your compartment at ease, while I have been squandering my genius to save you from the rude shock of the world? You owe me half-a-crown, Osborne. As an honourable man you owe me half-a-crown. Come, my man, pay up. No welshing, my boy; pay up.'