ASKING FOR IT.
The big clock in the station pointed three minutes to the hour, and my train went at one minute past, so I didn't waste words with the man in the booking-office.
"Third r'turn, Wat'loo."
Nothing happened. He was there all right, but he neither spoke nor made any attempt to give me my ticket; he merely looked.
"Third r'turn, Wat'loo," I repeated, and again, inserting my face as far as possible into the window, very firmly, distinctly and offensively. "Third re-turn, Wat-er-loo."
Then he spoke, slowly. "Sorry, Sir, I can't do it. You have hit on the one station to which we don't issue tickets. Any other one I could manage for you, but——"
"Look here," I said sternly, "you don't seem to know your business. If you haven't got a printed ticket, can't you make one out on paper? Hurry up, man; my train leaves in a minute or two."
"Yes," he said more slowly than ever, "I could do that—we have blank forms for that purpose; but all the same I won't do it."
"Oh, you won't? And why?"
"Well, I don't know what the fare is. I——"
"All right," I said. "You don't appear to be drunk, so I imagine you're trying to be funny. As your sense of humour doesn't correspond with mine I shall take great pleasure in reporting you to the station-master;" and I prepared to stalk off.
"Wait a moment, please," he said, leaning a bit forward and dropping his voice to a confidential whisper, "I'll give you a tip. You don't want a ticket at all, Sir; you can get there for nothing."
"What do you mean?" said I.
"It needn't cost you a halfpenny," he went on, smiling. "It's not many lines that have a station like this, but we——"
And then, but not until then, did I realise where I was.
"Oh," I said, "er—third return—er—Surbiton."
I don't think railway ticket-mongers ought to be allowed to have a sense of humour.