“But what are we to do?” asked the Wallypug. “Can’t we pay at this end?”
“Certainly not. My instructions are to demand a ticket of every one passing this barrier, and unless you give me one you cannot go through.”
“But I tell you we haven’t any. Can’t you tell us what to do?”
“Go back for them, I should say,” said the porter, yawning unconcernedly. “Now then, one thing or another. Are you going to give me the tickets or not?”
“How can we give them to you if we haven’t any?” demanded the Wallypug. The porter slammed the door to impatiently, and went a little way up the platform, turning around to call out warningly, “If we find any suspicious-looking characters hanging about the station premises we shoot them.”
THE PORTER DEMANDED OUR TICKETS.
“What nonsense!” cried the Wallypug, rattling and kicking the gate. “We can’t stop here all day. Let’s call the station-master. Hi! hi! station-master!” he shouted.
No one answered for a few minutes, but eventually a door some little distance up the platform opened, and the old station-master made his appearance, puffing and blowing, and followed by the porter, carrying a huge blunderbuss.