"Know what day o' the month it is?"
"March seventeenth, of course."
"Live near New York?"
"About twenty miles out."
"Gee whiz!" exclaimed the driver with a gasp. "I've bin a-drivin' o' this car for twenty years, an' I never met anythin' quite so innercent. Well, it's St. Patrick's Day, an' them's the wild Irish."
The traveler seemed but little enlightened. An emphatic man in black, with a mouth so wide that its opening suggested the wonderful, seized the hand of the innocent and shook it cordially.
"I'm glad to meet one uncontaminated American citizen in this city," he said. "I hope there are millions like you in the land."
The uncontaminated looked puzzled, and might have spoken but for a violent interruption. A man had entered the car with an orange ribbon in his buttonhole.
"You'll have to take that off," said the conductor in alarm, pointing to the ribbon, "or leave the car."
"I won't do either," said the man.