§ 222 Where He Could Go for Thirty Cents
“About three months ago,” so a friend of mine said, “fourteen of us were waiting in a line at the Grand Central Station to purchase fares on outgoing trains. Some among us had but a few minutes to spare. All of us, naturally, were in a hurry to transact the business and get ourselves and our luggage aboard the cars.
“All of a sudden an inebriated person burst like an alcoholic bombshell among us. Ignoring the rules of procedure, he shoved his way to the front, elbowing and jostling those already in line, until he reached the ticket window. Upon the shelf he slammed down a quarter and a nickle and in a loud voice stated his wishes.
“‘Gimme a ticket for San Francisco,’ he said.
“‘You can’t go to San Francisco for thirty cents,’ stated the ticket-seller.
“‘Well, where can I go, then?’ he asked.
“And with one voice, all fourteen of us told him.”