You'd have thought they had never seen a pair of bags before in their life; for they stared at mine all the way from Calais to Amiens, where we got out for refreshment.

I thought it best to take my bags with me to the buffet, as they might have humbugged about with them if I'd left them in the carriage.
They ought to make English compulsory in French schools.

The duffers in the buffet didn't even know what a dough-nut was! Not even when Jim looked it up in the dixy and asked for _noix a pate_.

The idiot asked us if we meant "rosbif," or "biftik," or "palal"-- that's all the English they seemed to know, and think English fellows feed off nothing else.
However, we did get some grub, and paid for it too.

When we got back to the carriage I took the precaution of sticking my bags on the rack above Jim's head; so all the fellows stared at him the rest of the way, and I got a stunning sleep.
We had an awful doing, as Bunker would call it--by the way, did he pull off his tennis match against Turner on breaking-up day ?--when we got to Paris.