As the car sped along toward Broadway, Harry Brackett mechanically read, as he had read a dozen times before, the printed request to place the exact fare in the box. “Suppose I don’t put it in?” he mused; “what will happen? The driver will ask for it—if he has time and happens to think of it. This is very tempting to a man who wants to try the Virginian plan of readjusting his debts. Here is just the opportunity for any one addicted to petty larceny. I think I shall call that article ‘The Bob-tail Car as a Demoralizer.’ It is most demoralizing for a man to feel that he can probably evade the payment of his fare, since there is no conductor to ask for it. However, I suppose the main reliance of the company is on the honesty of the individual citizen who would rather pay his debts than not. I doubt if there is any need to dun the average American for five cents.”
Harry Brackett lowered his eyes from the printed notice at which he had been staring unconsciously for a minute, and they fell on the man sitting opposite to him—the man who had entered the car as he did.
“I wonder if he is the average American?” thought Brackett. “He hasn’t paid his fare yet. I wonder if he will? It isn’t my business to dun him for it, and yet I’d like to know whether his intentions are honorable or not.”
The car turned sharply into Broadway, and then came to a halt to allow two young ladies to enter. A third young lady escorted them to the car, and kissed them affectionately, and said:
“Good-by! You will be sure to come again! I have enjoyed your visit so much.”
Then the two young ladies kissed her, and they said, both speaking at once, and very rapidly:
“Oh yes. We’ve had such a good time! We’ll write you! And you must come out to Orange and see us soon! Good-by! Good-by! Remember us to your mother! Good-by!”
At last the sweet sorrow of this parting was over; the third young lady withdrew to the sidewalk; the two young ladies came inside the car; the other passengers breathed more freely; the man opposite to Harry Brackett winked at him slyly, and the car went on again.
There was a vacant seat on the side of the car opposite to Harry Brackett—or, at least, there would have been one if the ladies on that side had not, with characteristic coolness, spread out their skirts so as to occupy the whole space. The two young ladies stood for a moment after they had entered the car; they looked for a seat, but no one of the other ladies made a sign of moving to make room for them. The man opposite to Harry Brackett rose and proffered his seat. They did not thank him, or even so much as look at him.
“You take it, Nelly,” said one.