m-rest. The Pullman conductors, with
clean cuffs and collars, were putting away their people. The black-faced
porters were taking the measures of men as they entered the car. Here
comes a gray-haired clergyman, carrying a heavy hand-satchel, and by his
side an athletic looking commercial tourist.

One of the black porters glides forward, takes the light hand-grip,
containing the travelling man's tooth-brush, nightshirt, and razor, and
runs up the step with it.

Now a train arrives from the West, and the people who are going away
look into the faces of the people who are coming home, who look neither
to the right nor left, but straight ahead at the open gates, and in
three minutes the empty cars are being backed away, to be washed and
dusted, and made ready for another voyage. How sad and interesting
would be the story of the life of a day coach. Beaten, bumped, battered,
and banged about in the yards, trampled and spat upon by vulgar
voyagers, who get on and off at flag stations, and finally, in a
head-end collision, crushed between the heavy vestibuled sleepers and
the mighty engine.

But sadder still is the story of a man who has been buffeted about and
walked upon by the arrogant of this earth, and to such a story the
Philosopher was now listening. The man was talking so rapidly that he
almost balled up at times, and had to go back and begin again. At times
it seemed to him that the Philosopher, to whom he was talking, was
giving little or no attention to his tale; but he was. He was making up
his mind.

It is amazing the amount of work that can be done in ten minutes, when
all the world is working. Tons of trunks had passed in and out, the
long platform had been peopled and depopulated twice since the two men
began their walk, and now another train gave up its human freight to the
already crowded city.

Now, as they went up and down, the Philosopher, at each turn, went a
little nearer to the engine. Only three minutes remained to him in which
to render his decision, which was to help the unhappy man a
half-thousand miles on the way to his dying wife, or leave him sadder
still because of the failure--to pine and ponder upon man's inhumanity
to man.

Patsy, glancing now and then at the big clock on the station wall,
searched the sad face of his friend and tried to read there the answer
to the man's prayer.

It would be that the man should ride, he had no doubt, for this story
was so like the story of this sa