the special policeman now suddenly appeared within corner-of-eye-sight and the fury went out of the baddie’s face, his lips mouthed something unheard and he became utterly impassive and accepted what had happened.
The goodie said, “There you are, sonny. You’re next,” winked at Julian and went back to his own place in line.
The ticket seller, without looking up, intoned automatically, “Where to?”
Julian asked, “How much is it to W-W-Washington?”
Julian’s stammer was another tribute to the overwhelming eminence and importance of his father, who, as sales manager of the Dale Aircraft Company, president of the Rotary, and co-owner of the San Diego Bullets, the pro football team, was always holding meetings, being interviewed and having his picture in the papers.
The ticket seller replied, “One way, hundred and five, fifteen, and round trip, one ninety-nine, sixty. What’ll it be?”
Julian said, “One way, please,” and handed over six brand new twenty-dollar bills.
The ticket seller snapped the bills into his cash drawer, stamped the ticket and with the change, shoved it on to the counter and then, for the first time looking up, was startled to see no one there. Or, at least so it seemed for an instant until he observed the top of Julian’s head and half of his bespectacled eyes just showing over the counter. Ordinarily this would not have worried him since there was nothing in the table of organization of his company that forbade selling a ticket to anyone who could pay for it. But taken thus by surprise, he inquired, “Say, sonny, you all by yourself?”
Julian felt a cold surge of panic. Was this then so soon to be the end to the grand design? Adults lived by rules and regulations and laws and things that were mostly forbidden and one of them might be for a nine and a half, almost ten-year-old boy to travel unaccompanied.
The cowboy, the ill-smelling baddie, was standing, shifting and shuffling impatiently behind him. Julian looked about and saw the special policeman, but he was occupied talking to one of the pretty girls in the information booth and then he caught sight of the mother with the family.
Julian shook his head in negation and replied, “No, s-s-sir. Thank you.” He took his ticket and change and beneath the eyes of the ticket seller wandered quietly over and joined the group of children.
The curiosity of the ticket seller was satisfied, besides which Sam Wilks was at the window saying impatiently, “El Paso, one way and shake it up, will you.”
The ticket seller reacted to Wilks, “You’ve got all the time in the world, bud. Relax. El Paso, one way. Thirty-nine, fifteen.”
Julian wanted to talk to one of the boys and find out where they were going, but thought he had better not attract attention, at which point the mother went into her count again and when, having included Julian, she had reached the eighth finger, her countenance reflected such horror and incipient panic that Julian thought he had better go. He sauntered away, his last glimpse being of the woman at the finish of her recount and the look of relief on her face as she was able to stop at seven.
Marge and Bill were waiting beneath the electronic bulletin board for the bus to be called when Marge queried, “Why did you say El Paso, Bill?”
Bill replied, “I dunno. When he asked me I just couldn’t think. I had to say something. But we can get off any place that looks nice. It’ll be okay.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “What did you tell your mother?”
“I said I was staying with Dottie. You?”
Bill said, “I told ’em I was going fishing with Chuck and that we’d probably camp out.”
All the old fears and doubts came back to Marge and she said, “What we’re doing isn’t right, is it?”
It was what Bill needed to bolster up his own failing courage—opposition. The female eternally changing. He said, “Gosh, Marge, I thought we talked all that out, didn’t we?
The goodie said, “There you are, sonny. You’re next,” winked at Julian and went back to his own place in line.
The ticket seller, without looking up, intoned automatically, “Where to?”
Julian asked, “How much is it to W-W-Washington?”
Julian’s stammer was another tribute to the overwhelming eminence and importance of his father, who, as sales manager of the Dale Aircraft Company, president of the Rotary, and co-owner of the San Diego Bullets, the pro football team, was always holding meetings, being interviewed and having his picture in the papers.
The ticket seller replied, “One way, hundred and five, fifteen, and round trip, one ninety-nine, sixty. What’ll it be?”
Julian said, “One way, please,” and handed over six brand new twenty-dollar bills.
The ticket seller snapped the bills into his cash drawer, stamped the ticket and with the change, shoved it on to the counter and then, for the first time looking up, was startled to see no one there. Or, at least so it seemed for an instant until he observed the top of Julian’s head and half of his bespectacled eyes just showing over the counter. Ordinarily this would not have worried him since there was nothing in the table of organization of his company that forbade selling a ticket to anyone who could pay for it. But taken thus by surprise, he inquired, “Say, sonny, you all by yourself?”
Julian felt a cold surge of panic. Was this then so soon to be the end to the grand design? Adults lived by rules and regulations and laws and things that were mostly forbidden and one of them might be for a nine and a half, almost ten-year-old boy to travel unaccompanied.
The cowboy, the ill-smelling baddie, was standing, shifting and shuffling impatiently behind him. Julian looked about and saw the special policeman, but he was occupied talking to one of the pretty girls in the information booth and then he caught sight of the mother with the family.
Julian shook his head in negation and replied, “No, s-s-sir. Thank you.” He took his ticket and change and beneath the eyes of the ticket seller wandered quietly over and joined the group of children.
The curiosity of the ticket seller was satisfied, besides which Sam Wilks was at the window saying impatiently, “El Paso, one way and shake it up, will you.”
The ticket seller reacted to Wilks, “You’ve got all the time in the world, bud. Relax. El Paso, one way. Thirty-nine, fifteen.”
Julian wanted to talk to one of the boys and find out where they were going, but thought he had better not attract attention, at which point the mother went into her count again and when, having included Julian, she had reached the eighth finger, her countenance reflected such horror and incipient panic that Julian thought he had better go. He sauntered away, his last glimpse being of the woman at the finish of her recount and the look of relief on her face as she was able to stop at seven.
Marge and Bill were waiting beneath the electronic bulletin board for the bus to be called when Marge queried, “Why did you say El Paso, Bill?”
Bill replied, “I dunno. When he asked me I just couldn’t think. I had to say something. But we can get off any place that looks nice. It’ll be okay.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “What did you tell your mother?”
“I said I was staying with Dottie. You?”
Bill said, “I told ’em I was going fishing with Chuck and that we’d probably camp out.”
All the old fears and doubts came back to Marge and she said, “What we’re doing isn’t right, is it?”
It was what Bill needed to bolster up his own failing courage—opposition. The female eternally changing. He said, “Gosh, Marge, I thought we talked all that out, didn’t we?
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