"Oh, all right; but you'll never get your money back--not from the
Government. Besides, you could easily have got through without a
ticket."
"How?"
"By taking out your note-case at the barrier and showing the girl the
back of a Bradbury. Dazzled by the display of so much wealth, she'd
pass you without a murmur."
"A miserable subterfuge," Cozens protested.
"Or you and I might walk up to the barrier deep in conversation. I
should then get in front, and the examiner would pull me up for my
ticket. I should fumble before producing my season. Meantime you would
have passed beyond recall."
"I simply couldn't do it."
"Or why not pay at the barrier, if you _must_ pay?"
"Yes, and lose the return ticket rate. How should I get down
to-night?"
"That's easy. Buy a platform ticket. The man at the gate at home will
pass you; he knows you."
"All underhand work," said Cozens. "It's much more dignified to buy a
ticket."
Just then a travelling inspector entered our carriage.
"Tickets, gentlemen, please!"
And Cozens, looking supremely undignified, produced a third-class
return, and tried to explain.
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