"Hm-m. Asleep," pronounced Tommy, with his keen glance into the corner.
"Guess I'll wake him up."
He laid his cheek down on his little fiddle,—you don't know how Tommy loved that little fiddle,—and struck up a gay, rollicking tune,—
"I care for nobody and nobody cares for me."
The man in the corner sat quite still. When it was over he shrugged his shoulders.
"When folks are asleep they don't hist their shoulders, not as a general thing," observed Tommy. "We'll try another."
Tommy tried another. Nobody knows what possessed the little fellow, the little fellow himself least of all; but he tried this:—
"We've lived and loved together,
Through many changing years."
It was a new tune, and he wanted practice, perhaps.
The train jarred and started slowly; the gloved exquisite, waiting hackmen, baggage-masters, coffee-counter, and station-walls slid back; engine-house and prison towers, and labyrinths of tracks slipped by; lumber and shipping took their place, with clear spaces between, where sea and sky shone through. The speed of the train increased with a sickening sway; old wharves shot past, with the green water sucking at their piers; the city shifted by and out of sight.
"We've lived and loved together,"