“We can find out from the ticket-agent,” I optimistically assured her.
“They never bother to buy tickets. Pay on the train,” Ptolemy explained.
My legal habit of counter-argument asserted itself.
“We can easily ascertain to what point their baggage was checked,” I remarked, again essaying to maintain a rôle of good cheer.
But the pessimistic Ptolemy was right there with another of his gloom-casting retaliations.
“They only took suit-cases and they always keep them in the car. Here’s a check father said to give you to pay for our board. He said you could write in any amount you wanted to.”
“He got a lot of dough yesterday,” informed Pythagoras, “and he put half of it in the bank here.”
Ptolemy handed over a check which was blank except for Felix Polydore’s signature.