'Pay her fare!'
'Told me to collect it off the gentleman in the grey suit in the smoking-car. You're the only one that's got a grey suit.'
'There's some mistake.'
'Not mine.'
'What does she look like?'
The conductor delved in his mind for adjectives.
'Small,' he said, collecting them slowly. 'Brown eyes—'
He desisted from his cataloguing at this point, for, with a loud exclamation, Bill had dashed away.
Two cars farther back he had dropped into the seat by Elizabeth and was gurgling wordlessly. A massive lady, who had entered the train at East Moriches in company with three children and a cat in a basket, eyed him with a curiosity that she made no attempt to conceal. Two girls in a neighbouring seat leaned forward eagerly to hear all. This was because one of them had told the other that Elizabeth was Mary Pickford. Her companion was sceptical, but nevertheless obviously impressed.
'My God!' said Bill.