A conductor with a wisp mustache stood tapping his punch.—Ticket?
—Ja? He looked up from the paper with a great smile.
—Your ticket?
—Ahh, Sie wollen meine, meine . . . He rummaged in pockets, to come up with a cardboard square and offer it with a beaming smile.
—This is a half fare ticket, Mister.
—Bitte?
—I said this ticket, this is half fare ticket.
—Ja ja . . . he beamed, nodding, his eyes beginning to cross.
—Half fare, half. Kiddie. Child.
—Ja, wissen Sie . . .
—Look. You, man. Ticket, child ticket. Get it?
—In dem Bahnhof, ja, he commenced still beaming, eyes now firmly crossed,—in dem Bahnhof habe ich die . . .
—For Christ sake look. Where you buy ticket?
—Herr Teets, verstehen Sie? In dem Bahnhof, Herr Bahnhofmeister Teets, Gott-trunkener Mensch, verstehen Sie? Mit der Dummheit kämpfen Götter selbst vergebens, he beamed, eyes abruptly straightened,—nicht?
—Oh for Christ sake.
—Bitte? The smile gone, his mouth hung open.
—Forget it. The conductor punched the ticket emphatically and turned up the aisle, abruptly snagged by a hand on his arm.