The old man had gone to the table and was pushing the newspapers to one side.
“Now where did I put it?” he muttered. “I had it a moment ago.
Ken shoved the notebook in his hip pocket. He looked across at a Packard, standing near the gates.
“My number’s TXL 3345,” he said, reading off the Packard’s number plate.
“I had that darned book a moment ago. Did you see it, mister?”
“No. I’ve got to be moving.” Ken offered the old man a half-dollar. “So long.”
“Thanks, mister. What was that number again?”
Ken repeated the number and watched the old man scribble it down on the edge of a newspaper.
“I’m always losing things.”
“So long,” Ken said, and walked quickly across the lot to his car.