The passengers made no complaint. It is so much the custom for the free American to accept almost anything in uniform as a part of Nature, and a Nature that grows violent on provocation, that the half-dozen offspring of the eagle perched mildly upon their seats without complaint.
Perhaps they liked it. One stout and jolly old gentleman enjoyed the discourse immensely, even joining in the spread of misinformation.
A pallid little woman, with a very large baby, timidly accosted Jimmie. She wanted to go to a certain place at least five miles distant, on a branch line.
Jimmie appealed to the chivalry of the passengers.
“We have got your nickels,” said he, “but this here lady has been misled. We feel as if we oughter take her where she belongs. No objections?”
The passengers looked at each other and said nothing.
“Let her fly, Jimmie. We have got to make that five miles in six minutes to keep up with our idee of things,” said Tommie.
They arrived at the street, but the little woman’s destination was several blocks from the trolley track. Jimmie escorted her, carrying her basket, while the stout old gentleman, saying that he would like to stretch his legs, carried the baby.
In the meantime, the car that really belonged on that track came from the opposite direction. I will not repeat what that motorman said. There is a sign on all trolley cars, “Don’t speak to the motorman.” It is a good piece of advice, because you might not like what the motorman would say to you in reply.
He waved his hands and told 809 to get on about its business. He wanted to know why she was there, in a tone that made the fourth-story windows fly open.