“It is nothing at all but an omnibus running upon rails,” he said: “I don’t see why they call it American.”
“It isn’t anything like as nice as our street cars—is it?” answered Johnny, with a flourish of national pride quite pardonable in so young an American.
Just then the conductor, supposing the two boys wished to be passengers, saluted them politely, exclaiming, “Complete, complete!” and the omnibus rolled off along the rails.
“What did he mean?” asked Eric, quite puzzled.
“He said the coach was full,” Johnny replied. “They are never allowed to carry more passengers than there are seats for.”
“That is still less and less like an American railway,” said Eric, laughing, and thinking of the crowded cars and overstrained horses he had so often seen and pitied, wearily perambulating the streets of New York.
“Let’s have some cake and coffee,” Johnny proposed, as they were strolling towards home. “I think French coffee is hard to beat.”
“When I was your age,” remarked Eric, “mamma almost decided to live in Paris; but I am very glad she did not, for I think New York a great deal nicer.”
Johnny led the way to a café—that is, a coffee-house,—and here they regaled themselves with rolls and delicious coffee.
Eric was shocked to see Johnny appropriate a couple of cakes and two lumps of sugar, left over from their repast, and convey them to his pocket.