Coronation by Paul Gallico

but the fact that he had been a mark and a poor fool was now utterly denied and for ever demolished on the word of no less than Detective-Sergeant Hayes in charge of the case, who had uttered a dictum that the fake tickets would have deceived anyone.
    Clagg sat back in the compartment amidst the murmurs of marvel from his family and fellow passengers, and gave himself up to the warm and wonderful feeling that had stolen over him. Now the story of their adventures had to be retold, but somehow it was no longer a tale of disaster and catastrophe, but one of drama which had reached the end it deserved: his name in the papers.
    In his mind’s eye he already saw himself passing the news item around at the George and Dragon back home, not once but many times. The story would be retold whenever a stranger appeared in the bar or an old friend turned up. The cutting would grow creased and yellow with handling. And perhaps the police would return him the counterfeit tickets as they had promised and he would exhibit those along with the bit from the paper. Then visitors would pass their fingers over the gold embossing and agree with Detective-Sergeant Hayes that they might have fooled anyone, as indeed they had, the toffs as well as himself, and goodness knows how many others who had not been so fortunate as to be identified in newsprint.
    The grandeur of the revelation lay like a spell upon the adults in the compartment. Thus it caused them all to jump when the sliding door was ripped open and the uniformed restaurant car attendant thrust his head inside shouting, ‘Tickets for dinner, anyone? Only second sitting left—’
    The no longer anonymous Executive Foreman of the Pudney Steel Mills raised his square head from the delectable page where his identity stood revealed for all who cared to read, and the sound and import of his own voice astonished him as he said, ‘We’ll have five, please.’
    This brought Granny out of her state of fatigue and shock. ‘Will!’ she cried. ‘Have you lost your senses? Haven’t you thrown out enough money as it is? We can have a cup of tea and some biscuits when we get home.’
    Violet Clagg said, ‘Oh, Will, do you think we ought?’ And then sighed, ‘I could do with a bite to eat.’
    ‘And a bite of something you shall have, old girl,’ said Will Clagg. The urge to celebrate was irrepressible. ‘Yes, five for the second sitting,’ he repeated. The attendant handed over the tickets.
    *
    It was perhaps more instinct than intent that had led Clagg to decree that Johnny should occupy a seat at one of the tables for two across the aisle from them in the restaurant car. The father was not entirely unaware of the look of pure, unbelieving bliss that his son bestowed upon him, or the fact that with this gesture he had for ever annulled whatever lingering disappointment might have remained in the boy at the way things had turned out that day. To have a real and proper meal aboard a train roaring at more than a mile a minute through the countryside while there was still light to see out was a treat enough; but to be able to enjoy this by himself at another table, unsupervised, unobserved, unrestricted, so that no limits could be placed upon the soaring of his imagination – this was too good to be true.
    The restaurant car consisted of tables for four on one side and smaller ones for two opposite on the other side of the narrow passage through which waiters threaded their way, performing the most incredible balancing acts with trays of food and drink.
    Bliss indeed! The table for two opposite where the Claggs – Mum and Dad, Gwenny and Gran – had established themselves was occupied, but there was another two-placer one down from them still empty, and here Johnny seated himself facing the engine, his back to his family and most fortuitously out of their direct line of observation and contact.
    Yet this wonderful moment, this unexpected, totally miraculous situation came so close to being