{ { header
| title = In the Marmalade
| author = Barry Pain
| translator =
| section =
| previous =
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| year = 1910
| edition = yes
| categories = mystery short stories / humorous short stories / magazine articles | notes = From Windsor Magazine, Vol 23, 1910. "I've made up my mind," he said, a little irritably, "and it's no good to worry any more about it. I'm going to put it in her marmalade."''' "Don't do it," said the older man anxiously. "I beg you not to do it. The consequences""There won't be any consequences—at least, there won't be any of the kind you mean. Discovery is practically impossible." }}
TOOK the eleven o'clock Pullman for Brighton one Sunday morning, and entered the train twenty minutes before it started.
On the opposite side of the car to myself two men were seated. One of them was an elderly gentleman, with a neatly trimmed white beard, and from his face I judged him to be both wise and kind. I gathered that he was not going on in the train, and had merely entered it for a few minutes' chat with his companion. This latter was a much younger man, not more than twenty-five. He was a good-looking boy, and he seemed worried and even slightly excited. It was evident that he employed a first-rate tailor and bootmaker, and I think he gave fifteen shillings for his ordinary straw hat. His taste in clothes was quiet and correct, and I was a little surprised that he spoiled the set of a well-cut coat—he was wearing a dark blue lounge suit—by carrying a heavy pocket-book or something of that kind in the inner side-pocket.
"I've made up my mind," he said, a little irritably, "and it's no good to worry any more about it. I'm going to put it in her marmalade."
"Don't do it," said the older man anxiously. "I beg you not to do it. The consequences"
"There won't be any consequences—at least, there won't be any of the kind you mean. I tell you, Parton did the same thing, and he swears there's no risk whatever. Discovery is practically impossible."
"I don't like it," said the old gentleman. "And I wish you had never told me about it, for it haunts me. You haven't even got the excuse of poverty."
"Perhaps not; but I'm not going to chuck money away, all the same."
"It might, I believe, lead to your arrest and"
"Hush!" said the young man in a low voice. He had, I think, noticed that the conversation was being overheard by me.
They talked for a minute or two, and then the old gentleman shook bands and left the train. The only other phrase which I could catch was "probably in the Lusitania."
I have frequently been called a curious and interfering old man. It is certainly true that I take an interest in anything which interests me, and that I have the strongest dislike to being left with only part of a story. I meant, if I could, to get at the rest of the story in this case.
I changed my seat, after complaining of a draught to the attendant, and took the seat opposite the young man. There was a small table in between us, and we were now within conversational range. But I did not hurry matters; for a time I read my paper sedulously, and appeared to take no notice of my young friend.
Presently he told the attendant to bring him a whisky and soda, and, in paying for his drink, he dropped a florin, which finally came to rest under my seat. I rescued it and handed it back to him. He thanked me politely, and said he was sorry to have given me the trouble.
"Oh, it was no trouble," I said. "Beautiful morning, isn't it?"
"Yes, pretty good."
"I wonder if it's impertinent for a stranger to say it—but I'm an old man, and old men notice such things—but I couldn't help being struck just now with the likeness between your father and yourself."
"Really? My father died about sixteen years ago."
"Ah, then it was not your father! My mistake. Stupid of me! I suppose one doesn't observe correctly when one is mentally preoccupied. And all the time I was puzzling over another point connected with you."
"Well?" said the young man grudgingly.
"Speaking frankly," I said, "and with my assurance on my word of honour that it shall go no further, what is it that you intend to put in her marmalade?"
His face showed how angry he was. "I think, sir," he said, "that you would do better to mind your own business!" He snatched up a newspaper from the table and opened it out between us.
"Funny you should tell me to mind my own business," I said placidly. "So many people have told me that And as a matter of fact, I have no business—no profession or occupation of any kind."