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"By Jove!" he said, shaking hands vigorously, "who would have thought of
seeing you?" "Who, indeed," I thought to myself. He looked at me more closely.
"You haven't changed a bit," he said. "Neither have you," said I.
All the time I was wondering who he was. I couldn't recall him a bit I don't
mean that my memory is weak, on the contrary. True, I find it hard to remember
people's names, sometimes it's hard for me to recall a face. But when it does
happen, I do not lose my presence of mind. I know just how to deal with the
situation. It only needs coolness and intellect, and it all comes right.
My friend sat down. "It's a long time since we met," he said. "A long time," I
repeated with a note of sadness... I wanted him to feel that I, too, had suffered
from it.
"Strange," he said, "how life goes on and we lose track of people. I sometimes
wonder where all the old gang are gone to."
"So do I," I said. I always find in such cases that , a man begins
sooner or later to talk of the "old gang." That's where the opportunity comes
to find out who he is.
"Do you ever go back to the old place?" he asked. "Never," I said firmly. I
didn't know where the old place was. Presently he began again. "I sometimes
meet some of the old boys and they begin to talk of you and wonder what
you're doing. And I often meant to write to you, especially when I heard of
your loss." I remained quiet. What had I lost? Was it money? And if so, how
much?
"One can never get over a loss like that," he continued sadly. Evidently I
had lost much.
"Yes," the man went on, "death is always sad."
Death! Oh, that was it, was it? Now I had to sit quiet and hear who was
dead.
"Strong and bright to the last I suppose?"
"Yes," I said feeling sure ground, "able to sit up in bed and smoke within a
few days of the end."
"What," he said surprised, "did your grandmother - "
At this moment I could hear the rattle of the train running past the
semaphores and switch points and slowing to a stop. My friend looked
quickly out of the window.
“Oh, I've missed my stop, I should have got out at the last station. I’ll
have to go to the next stop to get back. The next train down doesn't stop here,
but I'll have to send a telegram." And he tried to open the lock of his suitcase.
“How long do we stop here?" he asked the porter who was going past.
"Only three minutes," said the porter, she's making up time, she's late". As my
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