“The game’s up, Mamie,” said Wickliff.
She made no noise, only looked at him.
“What are you going to do?” said she, with perfect composure.
“Arrest you if you make a racket, talk to you if you don’t. Go into that seat.” He indicated a seat in the rear, and she took it without a word. He sat near the aisle; she was by the window.
“I suppose you mean to sit here all night,” she remarked, scornfully.
“Not at all,” said he; “just to the next place. Then you’ll get out.”
“Oh, will I?”
“You will. Either you will get out and go about your business, or you will get out and be taken to jail.”
“We’re smart. What for?”