In returning from a trip down town the other week I left my shopping bag in the car, and when I mentioned the fact to Mr. Bowser and asked him to call at the street railway office and get it, he replied:
"No, ma'am, I won't! Anybody careless enough to leave an article of value in a street car deserves to lose it. Besides, you did not take the number of the car, and they would only laugh at me at the office."
"Do you take the number of every street car you ride in?" I asked.
"Certainly. Every sensible person does. Day before yesterday I came up in No. 70. I went back in No. 44. I came up to supper in No. 66. Yesterday I made my trips in Nos. 55, 61 and 38. To-day in Nos. 83, 77 and 15. The street railways contract to carry passengers—not to act as guardians for children and imbeciles."
"Mr. Bowser, other people have lost things on the street car."
"Yes—other women. You never heard of a man losing anything."
I let the matter drop there, knowing that time would sooner or later bring my revenge. It came sooner than I expected. Mr. Bowser took his dress coat down to a tailor to get a couple of new buttons sewed on, and as he returned without it, I observed:
"You are always finding fault with the procrastination of my dressmaker. Your tailor doesn't seem to be in any particular hurry."
"How?"
"Why, you were to bring that coat back with you."