Presently a Crocodile came stamping up the gang-plank. He had a business-like expression in his eye, and a cold sarcastic smile displayed his glistening rows of sharp teeth. He stepped right up to the ticket-window, and thrust his long snout in so suddenly that he almost knocked the Bull off his stool.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY SENDING ME A MINIATURE TICKET LIKE THIS?"
"What do you mean by sending me a miniature ticket like this?" he shouted, fiercely.
The Bull stuttered, "I beg your pardon, sir; but won't you allow me to look at the ticket?"
The Crocodile passed the paper in.
"Oh, it's all a mistake," began the Bull, apologetically. "I assure you it is all a mistake—"
"I should say it was," interrupted the Crocodile, who appeared to be in an exceedingly unpleasant frame of mind. "Do you think for a moment that I am going to take any such accommodations as that? Do you think I can sleep in any berth that was built for a Lizard?"
"It's a mistake," repeated the Bull, affably. "Your quarters are on the main-deck, starboard side, No. 417," and he passed out the ticket he had taken away from the Lizard.
The Crocodile did not appear satisfied. He stuck his nose through the window again and shouted: