I was waiting outside the station when Tom's train came in from
Saltburn. He had not expected to see me again that night, and seemed
pleased that I had come to meet him.
'I think we shall have a fine day to-morrow, old boy,' he said; 'what
a dew there is! My feet are quite wet with it.'
'Tom,' I said, 'I came to meet you to-night because I wanted to tell you
something. I am sorry, very sorry, to disappoint you, but I can't go
with you to-morrow.'
'Why ever in the world not, Jack?' he said. 'I thought you were so keen
on seeing Scarborough.'
'Yes, Tom,' I said, 'but I am still more keen on something else.'
'What's that?' he asked; 'do you mean Redcar? It's a stupid place, Jack:
nothing in the world to see, I assure you.'
'No, Tom, I don't mean that. I don't want to change our plan. I had
rather see Scarborough than any other place; I'll give myself a holiday
on Monday, and go with you gladly, Tom; but I can't go to-morrow.'
'Nonsense, Jack!' he said angrily. 'You _can_ go if you like;
what's to hinder you? If you are willing to go at all, why on earth
can't you go to-morrow?'
'Simply because to-morrow is Sunday, Tom.
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