My Orders
“Ticket, sir!” said an inspector at a railway terminus in the City to a gentleman, who, having been a season ticket holder for some time, believed his face was so well known that there was no need for him to show his ticket. “My face is my ticket,” replied the gentleman a little annoyed. “Indeed!” said the inspector, rolling back his wristband, and displaying a most powerful wrist, “well, my orders are to punch all tickets passing on to this platform.”