Eleven-twenty-four now, and the boy approached the gate, holding his bag in front of him with both hands so that it bumped at every step and fixing his eyes on the announcement board, his mouth open vacuously.
“Look where you’re going!” exclaimed a gentleman with whom the boy collided.
“Huh?”
“Look where you’re going, I said! Stop bumping me with your bag!”
“Uh-huh.”
The gentleman pushed along, muttering angrily, and the boy followed, his bag pressed against the backs of the other’s immaculate gray trousered knees. “Greenbank, Mister?” he inquired of the man at the gate.
“Yes. Ticket, please!”
“Huh?”
“Let me see your ticket.”
“Ticket?”