5 P.M.
The only absolutely _ good _ railroad travel is in England , where the corridor car imagined from the Pullman has realized the most exacting ideal of the traveller of any class . In the matter of dining-cars we have stood still -LRB- having attained perfection at a bound -RRB- , while the English diner has shot ahead in simplicity and quality of refection . With us a dollar buys more dinner than you wish or like ; with them three shillings pay for an elegant sufficiency , and a tip of sixpence purchases an explicit gratitude from the waiter which a quarter is often helpless to win from his dark antitype with us . The lunch served on the steamer train from London to Liverpool leaves the swollen , mistimed dinner on the Boston express -- `` But what about that 5 P.M. breakfast which you got , no longer ago than last September , on the express between Salisbury and Exeter ? '' our friend exults to ask ; and we condescend to answer with forced candor : Yes , that was rather droll . No Englishman would dream of ordering afternoon tea consisting of chops , boiled potatoes , and a pot of souchong , and , if we chose to do so , we took a serious chance . But starvation will drive one to anything ; we had had nothing to eat since leaving Salisbury three hours before , and in the English air this is truly famine .