The sardine-car is the best genteel imitation of a rough-house that has ever been invented.
The are called "Sardine Cars" because the conductor has to let the passengers out with a can-opener.
Brave and strong men climb into a street car and they are full of health and life and vigor, but a few blocks up the road they fall out backwards and inquire feebly for a sanitarium.
To ride on the street cars in a big city of an evening brings out all that is in a man, including a lot of loud words he didn't know he had.
The last census shows us that the street cars in the city of New York have more ways of producing nervous prostration and palpitation of the brain to the square inch than the combined population of Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Tinkersdam and Gotterdammerung.
To get in some of the street cars about six o'clock is a problem, and to get out again is an assassination.
One evening I rode from Forty-second Street to Fifty-ninth without once touching the floor with my feet.
Part of the time I used the outposts of a stout gentleman to come between me and the ground, and during the rest of the occasion I hung on to a strap and swung out wild and free, like the Japanese flag on a windy day.
Some of our street cars lead a double life, because they are used all winter to act the part of a refrigerator.