"All right. Come with me. I'll show you," responded the official, assured by the sight of the money that Bob was not trying to steal a ride on the train.
Quickly the two made their way to the ticket office.
"Ticket for this youngster," announced the policeman.
"Where to?" asked the agent.
"Chicago, in a chair car," answered Bob.
"'Leven thirty," returned the man in the ticket office, turning to his rack and taking down a long strip of paper, which he stamped rapidly.
With trembling fingers, Bob counted out the money, and shoved it through the opening in the window.
"Correct," muttered the agent, as he counted the roll of bills. "Now hurry, or you won't get your train."
As Bob received the amazingly long ticket, his breast swelled with pride. Its possession meant the beginning of his long-cherished dream, and he started to study it, when the voice of the officer warned him:
"Come this way, kid. Go through gate No. 3. You can read your ticket when you get on the train; you'll have time enough before you reach Chicago. Good luck on your ranch," he added in a kindly banter.