So far all was in order. Then the conductress came round.
"Tuppenny," I murmured. "Albemarle Road."
"What's your town?" she asked, taking a pencil from behind her ear.
"Town? It's Albemarle Road I want."
"But what town do you choose for Post?" she asked. "You've all got to have
a town, you know. Don't make it too long. Hurry up! I've got to write you
all down, and it's time to begin."
"Pontresina," I gasped wildly. That seemed to be the only town I had ever
heard of.
"And you, Sir?" she was asking the old gentleman.
"Macclesfield," he said very decidedly.
The elderly relative was fidgeting to say hers. I could have guessed it
would be St. Ives.
The conductress made her way from one end to the other.
"All got towns?" she asked. "You, Sir? Pernambuco? I do wish you'd stick to
English names. Are you all ready?"
She rang the bell.
"Now," she said, "the gentleman on the stool has to catch. The Post is
going from Paris to Pontresina."
I rose and looked wildly down the car. The flapper was beckoning slightly.
Her contemptuous boredom had vanished, and she looked a merry child again.
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