"Jumping," replied the Kangaroo.
"Business address?" demanded the Conductor.
"Number 28 Australia," was the reply.
"Home address?" questioned the Conductor.
"Number 37 Melbourne," said the Kangaroo. "Melbourne is in Australia, you know," he added.
"Made your will?" put in the Conductor, suddenly.
"What has that got to do with it?" cried the Kangaroo, angrily, but with a nervous start.
"We cannot permit you to jump unless you've made a will," said the Conductor, politely. "You see, when you jump you leave the car, and we don't know whom you leave the car to until we have read your will. You might leave it to Tom or to Righty, or to the poetic Poker—or to old Shaggy over there,"—pointing to the Polar Bear. "Inasmuch as it's our car we have a right to know to whom you leave it."
"I guess I'll stay where I am," said the Kangaroo meekly, very much overcome by the Conductor's logic.
"That's the answer," returned the Conductor. "You seem to be a very sensible sort of Kangaroo. Fare, please!" And the Kangaroo, diving down into his pocket, produced a five-cent piece, which he handed over to the Conductor without further comment.