Cunningham jerked his head at the third man.
“He had one too. He just tore it up. It seemed to make him mad.”
“That so?” The other looked steadily back at the foreign-seeming man, who was staring out of the window with his face pale with fury. “Let’s ask him.”
He caught the foreigner’s eye an instant later and held up the magazine, opened at the article on the Strange People.
“How about it? You going there too?” he asked pleasantly.
The foreigner went purple with fury.
“No!” he gasped, half-strangled with his own wrath. “I do not know what you are talking about!”
He jerked himself around in his seat until they could see only his profile. But they could see his lips moving as if he were muttering savagely to himself.
“My name’s Cunningham,” said Cunningham. “I want to see those people. They sound sort of interesting.”
“And my name’s Gray,” said the other, shifting to a seat beside Cunningham. “I’m interested, too. I want to hear them talk. Dialect, you know. It’s my hobby.”