“In the sun?” snarled his old companion. “Come now, Freshie, can’t you catch on to what you are? You just look your fill at the old sun now for you won’t see him again for some time.”
“Why not?” whimpered No. 793.
But he needed no answer. Ahead of him he could see the track sliding down into a deep hole. The earth closed over him in a queer rounded arch, all lined with shiny white tiles. At the same moment the lights all up and down his own ceiling flashed on. He noticed then that he had a red lantern on his front. He could tell it by the red, glinting reflections it threw on the tiles as he tore along. Ahead he could see a great cluster of lights which seemed to be rushing towards him. Of course he was really rushing towards them, but he was so excited he got all mixed in his ideas.
“Where are we? And what on earth is that rushing towards us? And why do we come down here under the ground?” he screamed to the old car behind.
“There’s no room for us on top,” jerked the old car. “There are a heap of people in this old city of New York, Freshie, and you will find ’em on the surface or scooting in the elevated and here jogging along underneath the earth.”
“People!” screamed No. 793, “I don’t see any. What do we do with them in this hole anyway?”
Even as he spoke he felt the man in the little closet room in his front turn something. His wire brush lifted and all his strength seemed to ooze away. Then something clutched his wheels. He screeched,—yes, he really screeched, and then he stood still, close to the station platform. The station looked big to No. 793 and very brilliantly lighted. It was jammed with people who stood pressed against ropes in long rows.
A man on his own platform pulled down a handle and then another. He felt his end doors and then his center doors fly open. Then tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp—a hundred feet came pounding on his floor. He could feel them and somehow he liked the feel. He could even feel two small feet that walked much faster than the others, and in another moment he felt two little knees on one of his straw-covered seats. Then the handles were pulled again. His doors banged closed; z-zr-zr-rr—the brush underneath touched the rail and the electricity shot through him. He felt a hundred feet shift quickly and heavily. He felt his leather straps clutched by a hundred hands. And amid the noise he heard a little voice say, “Father, isn’t this a brand new subway car?” And then he knew what he was!