"I dunno."
They sought in their pockets, each with a vision of a twenty-mile tramp to London before his eyes. Then they sighed with relief; each had still the money with which he had started out upon his leave. Alf pushed a note across the counter.
"This is no good to me," said the female and youthful booking-clerk, in superior tones, hastily retrieving the tickets she was just handing out.
"What's the matter?"
"French money, isn't it?"
"Lumme, so it is! I never thought o' that, Bill. 'Ave you any English?"
Bill looked hastily through his store and shook his head.
"Look 'ere, miss," he said ingratiatingly. "Can't you let us 'ave the tickets, as a special case like? We're on leave from the front, an' we 'aven't 'ad no time to get our money changed yet. If you don't let us 'ave the tickets we'll 'ave to walk. An' it is good money, even if it is French."
The damsel was softened but doubtful.
"I'll ask father," she said.