“Which do you consider the nicest?” asked the boy anxiously.
“Now, look here! I haven’t got time to fool away. Find out where you want to go first.”
“I’m so sorry! I saw it said ‘Information’ here and thought I’d get a little. If I’m at the wrong window——”
“This is the Information Bureau, son, but I’m no mind reader. If you don’t know which Greenbank you want—Yes, Madam, eleven-thirty-two: Track 12!”
“Maybe this ticket will tell,” hazarded the boy, laying it on the ledge. The man seized it impatiently.
“Of course it tells! Here you are!” He tossed a folder across. “You oughtn’t to travel alone, son,” he added pityingly.
“No, sir, I hope I shan’t have to. There’ll be other people on the train, won’t there?”
“If there aren’t—Yes, sir, Stamford at twelve, sir—you’d better put yourself in charge of the conductor!”
“I shall,” the other assured him earnestly. “Good-morning.”
“Just plain nutty, I guess,” thought the man, looking after him.