The bustle and hurry, the hand-luggage being carefuly placed in racks, the exchange of greetings, all are exciting. But the last words? No, those last words are the weak spot. Why does not some clever person plan out the proper form of words between the departing one and the seer-off? Why should we, after all the seeing-off we have done, still say: "Well, you'll soon be off," "Don't forget to send me a card when you arrive," "Are you sure you have everything?" "I do hope you'll have a good crossing," and other inanities?
Yet what can we do? It is impossible at the very door of the carriage to launch out into a dissertation about. foreign affairs, or the future of democracy, nor is it tactful to describe the rush we had to get to the station in time thus making the traveller uncomfortable. Moreover, it is heartless not to hope that she will have a good journey, and it is obvious that the train will soon start. I fear until someone provides a book of the words we shall continue to say the same things in the same way, even to the "Give my love to Mary." which is almost necessary.
But what doors are opened by a visit to the station from which any boat train starts! I can regard some stations with a calm and uninterested gaze, but Victoria for the Continent, Waterloo for the Southampton boat trains, Euston from which one may go on an ocean voyage, are enchanted places.
The advertisements which unemotionally mention Cape Town and Montreal, Athens and Peiping, as if they were Croydon (another enchanted place for those who love everything connected with travel) or Fling, are a joy. Looking at them, sounds, sights, and even smells, come back, and a dull foggy day in your adored London is only a background for some of the places you have seen or want to see. At least they are the world and there is always hope at the bottom of the box.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.