very carefully, thinking that it would not be wanted for hours, and
have forgotten where.

There are eleven pockets in the suit you have on, and five more in
the overcoat on the rack. Maybe, it is in one of those pockets. If
not, it is possibly in one of the bags--somewhere, or in your
pocket-book, if you only knew where that was, or your purse.

You begin a search. You stand up and shake yourself. Then you have
another feel all over. You look round in the course of the
proceedings; and the sight of the crowd of curious faces watching
you, and of the man in uniform waiting with his eye fixed severely
upon you, convey to you, in your then state of confusion, the
momentary idea that this is a police-court scene, and that if the
ticket is found upon you, you will probably get five years.

Upon this you vehemently protest your innocence.

"I tell you I haven't got it!" you exclaim;--"never seen the
gentleman's ticket. You let me go! I--"

Here the surprise of your fellow-passengers recalls you to yourself,
and you proceed on your exploration. You overhaul the bags, turning
everything out on to the floor, muttering curses on the whole
railway system of Germany as you do so. Then you feel in your
boots. You make everybody near you stand up to see if they are
sitting upon it, and you go down on your knees and grovel for it
under the seat.

"You didn't throw it out of the window with your sandwiches, did