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in the face of bad manners, and went on to prove his point. Asking the American to stand by, he entered a first-class compartment marked "Reserved for Mr. Ashcroft." Fields unhooked the sign, tossed it on the floor, opened a newspaper, and, sitting down, began to read with an attitude of imperial nonchalance. A moment later a trainman came along and said, "I'm sorry, sir, but this space is reserved."
Without glancing up, Fields waved him away.
"It's reserved, sir," insisted the trainman. "The sign's fallen on the floor."
"I'm reading," said Fields. "Go along, now, and don't interrupt."
"If you wouldn't mind, sir," said the trainman, "I think I'd better summon the conductor."
Fields continued to read. The conductor arrived and said, in a familiar vein, "Beg your pardon, sir, but this space is reserved."
"What's the meaning of this outrage?" demanded Fields, quivering with indignation.
"There's been some mixup," said the conductor. "The space is reserved for Mr. Ashcroft. Tall man with a yellow goatee."
"This is my seat!" cried Fields. "Bought and paid for. Leave! Be off!"
The conductor removed his hat and mopped his face ; then he said, "I hardly know what course to take. Perhaps I'd better summon a constable, sir. This is a little out of my line."
With a look of pious vindication, Fields returned to his paper.
A couple of minutes later the conductor returned, with the trainman, a constable, and the unhappy Ashcroft. A general consultation was held, while Fields, deep in concentration, caught up on an item about a Hyde Park matron who had suffered a gastric setback after gorging on tainted kippers.
"See here," sputtered Ashcroft at last. "You've got my seat, you know."
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