The starter looked startled. “Well!” said he. It was the only word in the English language that could express his feelings. “Well!” he said. He looked at the dollar, and in the tone of a man bewitched he cried, “Give him the bell, Tommie! You’re off!”
Tommie pulled the strap. “Adoo! Fare thee well. Good-by. Ready!” he called. “If we don’t see you again, hello!”
The starter waved his hand. The starter shook his head.
Car 809 droned merrily along the track until she came to the first switch. “Give us the High Bush Line, Jerry,” said James.
The melancholy man jabbed his iron into the track. High Bush, North Pole, Heaven or Hades, it was all one to him.
“Come along,” he growled, and they came.
“Hey, there! Hey!” cried an excitable old gentleman, as the car shot up the side-street switch. “I thought this car went through Lethe Street.”
“It used to,” answered Tommie soothingly, “but it has got weary of it—plumb tired out.”
“Tired?” cried the old gentleman blankly. “Here, let me out!” he concluded with energy.
He stood on the crossing until a brewery-wagon was driven against him.