“Quite right, Fuller,” said Ray; “safety last.”
“Do you want something or don’t you?” asked the ticket agent.
“You are right,” said Fuller.
“What?” demanded the ticket agent.
“What have you in tickets?” queried Fuller.
“What do you mean? Are you crazy?” asked the ticket agent, much nettled and with a face as sober as the grave.
Fuller studied the rack with great earnestness and then varied his usual formula of selection by saying eenie, meenie, minee, mo. “I’d like three nice tickets,” said he, “from the third pigeon-hole from the left side and one down from the top. Be careful not to soil them.”
“Where do you want to go?” thundered the young man, thoroughly aroused.
“Do I have to tell you where I want to go?” said Fuller. “Did you ever hear of such a thing, Ray? Talk about personal questions!”
“Well, you’d better get out of here,” said the ticket agent.