Breathlessly we changed places; her black hat was a little crooked, but she only laughed.
"I've lost my knitting, too," she said, "but I don't mind. This exercise keeps one so warm these cold days."
The game was in wild progress; the car rocked and jolted and the conductress shouted the names.
"General Post!" she called. "Those inside change places with those outside."
That was the most breathlessly exciting moment of the whole game. There was a solid struggling mass of humanity on the tram staircase. Those without were pushing frantically to come down; we were shoving to get up.
The lady called St. Ives was thumping my shoulders.
"Climb up the railing," she said.
Somehow I did it, and leaned down to catch her hands and drag her upwards. We launched ourselves breathlessly on to the furthest seat.
Stout old Macclesfield was the next. He had lost his hat and his white hair was ruffled.
"I'm here," he said. "Macclesfield for ever!"