“Lunatics—not a doubt of it,” he said to himself, as he hopped to the sidewalk. There he waited, but in vain, for no other car would be sent forth until 809 passed a certain turnout, which she had not the least intention of approaching this day.
And that ruptured the schedule.
A sour-faced young man with a fighting jaw approached the car a few blocks farther on.
“Say! Do youse go through Scrabblegrass Avenoo?” he asked in a voice like a curse.
“Now, that depends,” answered the blithe Thomas. “If we want to, we will; if we don’t, we won’t. D’yer feel like making it an object to us?”
The sour-faced young man backed up a step.
“Say, you are a pretty fresh duck, ain’t you?” he sneered. He quickly put on his most ferocious look. “Now, you listen to the toot of my little naughtyobilious horn,” said he; “and if you don’t I’ll mix you up with the machinery. I want to go to Scrabblegrass Avenoo. D’yer get that? The quicker I get there, the better. D’yer get that?” He pushed his bulldog jaw into Thomas’ face.
“Shoo, fly!” said Thomas, making a light pass with his hand which caused a noisy rustle in the aftermath that grew upon the other man’s extensive face.
“Sure!” he continued. “Sure. I get all these things, of course.” He stopped the car. He took the fighting-jawed man by the shoulder and pointed his finger at an angle of thirty-five degrees to the perpendicular and at right angles to the car track.
“There is Scrabblegrass Avenoo, right over yonder,” he said. “Jump!”