He said that even if
it did not turn the man's head (and it was more than probable that
it would), so much jealousy would be created against him among the
other railway people throughout Germany, that his life would be made
a misery to him.
So we bought and showed him a first-class return to the next station
but one; and it was quite pathetic to watch the poor fellow's face
brighten up at the sight, and to see the faint smile creep back to
the lips from which it had so long been absent.
But at times, one wishes that the German railway official would
control his passion for tickets - or, at least, keep it within due
bounds.
Even the most kindly-hearted man grows tired of showing his ticket
all day and night long, and the middle of a wearisome journey is not
the proper time for a man to come to the carriage-window and clamour
to see your "billet."
You are weary and sleepy. You do not know where your ticket is.
You are not quite sure that you have got a ticket; or if you ever
had one, somebody has taken it away from you. You have put it by
very carefully, thinking that it would not be wanted for hours, and
have forgotten where.
There are eleven pockets in the suit you have on, and five more in
the overcoat on the rack. Maybe, it is in one of those pockets. If
not, it is possibly in one of the bags - somewhere, or in your
pocket-book, if you only knew where that was, or your purse.
You begin a search. You stand up and shake yourself. Then you have
another feel all over. You look round in the course of the
proceedings; and the sight of the crowd of curious faces watching
you, and of the man in uniform waiting with his eye fixed severely
upon you, convey to you, in your then state of confusion, the
momentary idea that this is a police-court scene, and that if the
ticket is found upon you, you will probably get five years.
Upon this you vehemently protest your innocence.
"I tell you I haven't got it!" you exclaim; - "never seen the
gentleman's ticket. You let me go! I - "
Here the surprise of your fellow-passengers recalls you to yourself,
and you proceed on your exploration. You overhaul the bags, turning
everything out on to the floor, muttering curses on the whole
railway system of Germany as you do so. Then you feel in your
boots. You make everybody near you stand up to see if they are
sitting upon it, and you go down on your knees and grovel for it
under the seat.
"You didn't throw it out of the window with your sandwiches, did
you?" asks your friend.
"No! Do you think I'm a fool?" you answer, irritably. "What should
I want to do that for?"
On going systematically over yourself for about the twentieth time,
you discover it in your waistcoat pocket, and for the next half-hour
you sit and wonder how you came to miss it on the previous nineteen
occasions.
