" The agent smiled
uncertainly over his feeble attempt at a joke. "I got a license for a
friend once," he explained hastily, when he saw that Ford's face did not
relax a muscle. "There's a train up in forty minutes--"
"Sure, I'll do that." Ford brightened. "That must be what I've been
trying to think of and couldn't. I knew there was some way of finding
out. Throw me a round-trip ticket, Lew. Lordy me! I can't afford to let
a real, live wife slip the halter like this and leave me stranded and
not knowing a thing about her. How much is it?"
The agent slid a dark red card into the mouth of his office stamp,
jerked down the lever, and swung his head quickly toward the sounder
chattering hysterically behind him. His jaw slackened as he listened,
and he turned his eyes vacantly upon Ford for a moment before he looked
back at the instrument.
"Well, what do you know about that?" he queried, under his breath,
released the ticket from the grip of the stamp, and flipped it into the
drawer beneath the shelf as if it were so much waste paper.
"That's my ticket," Ford reminded him levelly.
"You don't want it now, do you?" The agent grinned at him.
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