"Well, young man, where to? Paris? London? Maybe Mars?"

"No, sir," comes the piping voice, "Roun-tree."

"Roundtree? Yes, I've heard of that metropolis," you reply. You look over
his head, there aren't any other customers in line behind him so you
don't mind passing the time of day. "Round-trip or one-way?"

"One-way," comes the quick reply.

This brings you to a slow stop. He does not giggle nor prattle, nor
launch into a long and involved explanation with halting, dependent
clauses. This one knows what he wants and how to ask for it. Quite a
little man!

"How old are you, young fellow?"

"I was five years old yesterday."

"What's your name?"

"I'm James Holden."

The name does not ring any bells--because the morning newspaper is
purchased for its comic strips, the bridge column, the crossword puzzle,
and the latest dope on love-nest slayings, peccadilloes of the famous,
the cheesecake photo of the inevitable actress-leaving-for-somewhere, and
the full page photograph of the latest death-on-the-highway debacle. You
look at the picture but you don't read the names in the caption, so you
don't recognize the name, and you haven't been out of your little cage