I opened the bag and packed the boots in; and then, just as I was going to close it, a horrible idea occurred to me. Had I packed my toothbrush? I don’t know how it is, but I never do know whether I’ve packed my toothbrush. My toothbrush is a thing that haunts me: when I’m travelling, it makes my life a misery. I dream that I haven’t packed it, and wake up in a cold perspiration, and get out of bed and hunt for it. And, in the morning, I pack it before I have used it, and it is always the last thing I turn out of the bag; and then I repack and forget it, and have to rush upstairs to get it at the last moment and carry it to the railway station, wrapped up in my pocket-handkerchief. What makes his life miserable whenever he undertakes travelling ?