When Alfred Hardy found himself on the train bound for Detroit, he tried
to assure himself that he had done the right thing in breaking away
from an association that had kept him for months in a constant state of
ferment. His business must come first, he decided. Having settled this
point to his temporary satisfaction, he opened his afternoon paper
and leaned back in his seat, meaning to divert his mind from personal
matters, by learning what was going on in the world at large.

No sooner had his eye scanned the first headline than he was startled by
a boisterous greeting from a fellow traveller, who was just passing down
the aisle.

"Hello, Hardy!" cried his well meaning acquaintance. "Where are you
bound for?"

"Detroit," answered Alfred, annoyed by the sudden interruption.

"Where's the missus?" asked the intruder.

"Chicago," was Alfred's short reply.

"THAT'S a funny thing," declared the convivial spirit, not guessing how
funny it really was. "You know," he continued, so loud that everyone in
the vicinity could not fail to hear him, "the last time I met you two,
you were on your honeymoon--on THIS VERY TRAIN," and with that the
fellow sat himself down, uninvited, by Alfred's side and started on a
long list of compliments about "the fine little girl" who had in his
opinion done Alfred a great favour when she consented to tie herself to
a "dull, money-grubbing chap" like him.