“Certainly; but how were you going? You don't know where it is.”
“No, so I don't. But I can hail one of those electrics and ask the conductor to stop when he got to it. He'd know where 'twas, most likely.”
“Electric” is the Down East term for trolley car, lines of which were passing and repassing the station. Daniel waved his disengaged hand to the conductor of the nearest. The car stopped.
“Wait a minute,” said Serena quickly. “How do you know that car is going the right way?”
“Hey? Well, of course I don't know, but—”
“Of course you don't. Besides, we don't want to go in an electric. We must take a carriage.”
“A carriage? A hack, you mean. What do we want to do that for?”
“Because it's what everyone does.”
“No, they don't. Look at all the folks on that electric now. Besides, we—”
“Hi there!” shouted the conductor of the car angrily. “Brace up! Get a move on, will you?”