He never remembered being offered so large or so varied a choice at Liverpool Street Station before.

You generally made a dash for the only empty table you saw, usually close to the door.

That was like Hobson's choice--this or none! A stable of forty good steeds, always ready and fit for travelling, but the customer must take the horse which stood nearest to the door! Well, to-day he had the run of the stable.

Forty good marble tables! Which should he choose?
The young women behind the counter watched him with interest as he wandered about, carefully examining each table and sitting down tentatively at several.

At last he chose the most central, as being the furthest removed from Hobson's choice; sat down, took the Infant out of its bag, and, screwing in its pointed foot, leaned it up against another chair at the table.
Then he found that one of the young women had come from behind the counter, and was standing at his elbow, patiently awaiting his pleasure.
He ordered a cup of coffee and a roll and butter, for himself; a glass of milk and a sponge-cake for the Infant.
Just after these were served, before he had had time to drink the steaming hot coffee, the friendly inspector arrived, accompanied by another railway official.