“Surely you remember my bringing it?”
Green Corduroy seemed to think that he did remember. At this point Crusty Sides, with an air of outrage, sternly interposed. “But a pawty claims it. And here’s his ticket.”
“The ticket’s mine,” said June, in a fierce whisper. “It’s been taken from my purse.”
“Nothin’ to do with us, that ain’t,” said Crusty Sides.
“But you do remember my bringing it, don’t you?” Beseechingly June turned to Green Corduroy. And he, that nice-looking young man, with a frown of ever-deepening perplexity, slowly affirmed that he thought he did remember.
“The ticket’s what we’ve got to go by,” said Crusty Sides, sternly. “Nothin’ else matters to us.”
“If you’ll look at it,” said June to Green Corduroy, “you’ll see that it’s made out in your writing.”
Green Corduroy looked and saw that it was. As far as he was concerned, that seemed to clinch the argument. And even Crusty Sides, a born bureaucrat, was rather impressed by it. “You say this here ticket’s been taken off on you?” he asked.
“Yes,” said June in an excited whisper. “By my wicked thief of an uncle.”
Instantly she regretted the imprudence of her words.