To his surprise the stranger strode past without so much as a glance toward him and stepped upon the platform of the foremost car.
"I'm the biggest fool in town!" thought Ned in scorn for his terrors, turning nevertheless toward the other car.
"Go on!" said the grip-man of the empty cable car. "This car is going to turn in."
Ned went on, dismayed by the possibility that the man had noticed and understood this effort to avoid him, but when he too stepped upon the rear platform of the foremost car and the cumbrous vehicle started off, he saw that the man had bought the evening paper and was already deeply absorbed in its contents.
"He ain't even thinking about me," Ned reflected, much reassured. "He ain't even looked ter see if I took the kyar or no."
The boy who had sold the paper still stood in the doorway. He was a squabby little fellow of eight or ten, with carrot-tinted hair, a broad, dirty, freckled face, a wide mouth with several front teeth missing, a beguiling blue eye, and a persuasive lisp, although his voice was keyed to a blatant whine. He scanned the faces of the men in the car with a precocious attention and business tact at once ludicrous and pathetic as he recited the headlines of the news columns. There was something very appealing in his innocent and earnest eyes and long list of enormities.
"All about the bloody murder at the wharf!" he sang out suddenly.
There was no response. The car whizzed on. Nobody talked. There was not even smoking here, although from the "grip" visible ahead, the wind brought back the fragrance of cigars.
"Executhion at the Jail-yard! Two murdererth on the thame gallowth! Dying thpeech an' confethion!—Their neckth were broke!" he added suddenly, the last clause of his own motion and by way of explanation.
His air demanded, who could resist such fascinating reading as that! Still there was no response. That belled cat, the conductor, was taking the fares, and ever and anon the sharp tones of his bell-punch jangled on the air.