The travelling ticket inspector

Here is a charming little poem which appeared in the G.I.P. Railway Magazine in May 1915:
We’ve heard of the driver, we’ve heard of the guard
Of the engine from cab to injector,
But a subject which hasn’t occurred to our bard,
Is the travelling inspector.
When you rush for your train in the morning—perhaps
You’ve been out in the evening preceding
It’s most likely to happen that one of these chaps
A sight of your ‘season’ is needing.
Then you feel in your pockets, you look in your hat,
Your co-passengers think it is quite funny
And it dawns on your wandering intellect that
It’s at home—with your keys, your money.
But it isn’t a rule for the gay flying scud
To drop on the man who’s forgotten
His ticket. He really is after the ‘dud’
And the man whose excuses are rotten.
He will smile as he says “Show your tickets, I pray”
For his manner is gentle and courtly,
But the ‘twister’ who never intended to pay
He will lay by the heels very shortly.
The enemy sworn of the traveller by stealth
Of ‘bilking’ and fraud the detector
Let’s empty a glass to the jolly good health
Of the travelling ticket inspector!