The Remarkable Case of Mr Vincent Shrigley

‘Humbug?’
I roused myself from a reverie to find that the seat opposite me in the railway carriage now had an occupant: a smallish man dressed entirely in brown, proffering a paper bag. His face under its chestnut felt bowler was creased into a smile; an old but serviceable suit covered his limbs; the ensemble was completed by a scuffed pair of boots. Above his head on the rack was a well-used case, for samples perhaps as he looked the type to be a travelling salesman; but one never knows on the railways. His smile faded and he sighed.
‘Lord, I love sweets. Humbug?’

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