"Seven sixty-five, one way to Centronia," said the agent.
"But I don't want a parlor car seat or nothing," protested Joe Brown.
"That doesn't count in a Pullman," retorted the agent. "Seven sixty-five one way, I tell you."
Joe Brown shuffled his shabby feet uneasily.
"How—how—how little do you have to be to get half-fare?" he blurted.
"A sight smaller than you are," snapped the agent. "Do you want a ticket or not?"
Joe Brown looked at the crumpled wad of dirty bills and loose change in his hand.
"I guess I won't take it just now," he mumbled, and turned away.
"Hello, Joe!" Sunny Boy pounced upon him gleefully, having waited till this minute only because his mother had held him back. "How are you?"
"Pretty well, thank you," answered Joe politely, flushing a little.