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.
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