The private secretary softened it as much as he could, and even dared to suggest to the chief that it might be a bet; but the little czar of the Pacific & Southwestern, who had never flinched under any strain or stress, grew visibly older as he heard that his son was offering thousands for an opera-seat—for the seat back of the double seven, seventh row. It could mean but one thing!
Tom was so fortunate as to be standing beside the ticket-collector at the middle door of the main entrance when the owner of H 77 appeared. He was a fat man with a pink and shiny face, a close-cropped mustache, and huge pearl studs. The fat man was fortunately alone.
“Sir,” said Tom, “I should like to speak a moment with you.”
The man looked apprehensive. Then he said, “What is it about?”
“For very strong personal reasons I should like to exchange tickets with you. I can give you G 126—every bit as good—on the other side of the aisle.”
“Why should I change?” queried the shiny-faced man, suspiciously.
“To oblige a very nice young lady and myself. Of course, if you prefer to be paid—”
“I don't need money.”
“Well, I'll pay you a hundred dollars for your ticket,” said Tom, coldly.
The man shook his head from force of habit, in order that Tom might see he was offering too little. Then he said, recklessly: