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car—three men and a woman. They were separated from each other by expanses of vacant seats: they were evidently strangers to each other, yet they conversed freely.

“Must have been awful,” the woman was saying, as Patricia entered and took a seat near the front. “I’ve never seen the place—but I can imagine———”

“I have,” interrupted one of the men, evidently a commercial traveller—for whom Patricia had a discerning eye—“many a time. I was over there only last week, and it’s only by chance that I’m not there this week.”

The other two men and the woman eyed him with envy.

“Are you ‘on the road’?” asked one of the men, whose clothing was that of a labourer and whose moustache was stained yellow at the lower edge.

“Yes. I do all that district. I’ll have to rush over and see what’s left of our business there. Not much, by all accounts.”

“I can’t believe it yet,” stated the woman in shocked tones. “Thank Heaven, I have nobody over there.”

“It’s the best thing that ever happened to that town, in a way,” proceeded the commercial traveller judicially.

“How can you say such a thing?” demanded the woman. “With all those lives lost! You ought to be locked up!”

The traveller smiled at the men, who looked at him with disapproval.

“I mean, for the town itself,” he hastened to explain. “Of course, the loss of life is a terrible thing. Doesn’t bear thinking about. But it was time something happened to those narrow streets———”

“You wouldn’t say that if you owned property there, young man,” put in the third man, with a sourness which matched his appearance.

“I don’t know,” disagreed the traveller with a smile; “if the insurances were right I might.”