IN WHICH PHIL IS CHIVALROUS, BUT HAS HIS EYES OPENED.
I thought that the conductor was rather hard on the old lady, though I was willing to allow that his duty admitted of no compromise.
"Did you ever hear the like on't?" exclaimed the old lady. "Put me out of the car! He's a mean man, and I hate mean folks wus'n pizen."
"I suppose he has his duty to perform," I mildly suggested.
"'Tain't his duty to put a lone and onprotected woman out of the car; and he wouldn't do it if my son Charles was here."
I concluded that if her son Charles were there, he would pay her fare, like a dutiful son as he was. Presently the whistle on the locomotive sounded, and we heard the scraping of the brakes, as the train prepared to stop. The conductor promptly appeared, and again demanded her fare or a ticket. The old lady seemed to be greatly troubled, and I expected to have the whole seat to myself from this station.
"Suthin must be done!" said the old lady.
"That's so; give me your ticket or the twelve dollars," replied the official.
"I can't do one nor t'other. I hain't got the money, and my ticket's gone."
"Very well, madam. Then you must leave the train."