"To London?" I said. "Of course I'll go. It's the very place I'm wanting to go to. In fact, I was going there anyhow; only when you said you'd got a headache I thought I'd stay here and help to cool your brow."
"But why," she murmured, "were you going to London anyhow?"
"Because," I said, "I've bought a season ticket. When the ticket-collector comes round I shan't fumble in all my pockets, or scrabble on the floor, or get red and nervous. I shall just sit tight without looking at him and whisper 'Season' from behind my penny Times. I've always wanted to be like that, and now I am it."
"But will you get your money's worth out of it?"
"Yes," I said, "if I have to travel up and down three times a day to do it."
"And will you be an angel?" she said.
"I am. My wings are fully grown."
"Then I want you to fly for me to Jobson's."
"To Jobson's?" I said in a voice of vague alarm.
"Yes, Jobson's. The great Stores in the Bothwell Road."