With the elevenpence now in his pocket he could purchase a ticket to a little town called Dent, and by a calculation from the railway tariff he concluded that from Dent to Twybridge was some five-and-twenty miles.

Well and good.

At the rate of four miles an hour it would take him from half-past eleven to about six o'clock.

He could certainly reach home in time for supper.
At Dent station, ashamed to ask (like a tramp) the way to so remote a place as Twybridge, he jotted down a list of intervening railway stoppages, and thus was enabled to support the semblance of one who strolls on for his pleasure.

A small handbag he was obliged to carry, and the clouded sky made his umbrella a requisite.