but that
wasn't our fault, was it? Now, let me tell you something: I've been
working for this company for twenty-five years...."

Unhappily the noise of the train prevented us from hearing the
remark that followed. We were remembering a Chinese translation that
we made once. It went something like this:

A SUSPICIOUS NATURE

_Whenever I travel
I ask at least three train-men
If this is the right train
For where I am going,
Even then
I hardly believe them._

But as we watched the two, the conductor gently convincing the
irate passenger that he would have to abide by his mistake, and the
truculent fat man gradually realizing that he was hopelessly in the
wrong, a new aspect subtly came over the dialogue. We saw the stout
man wither and droop. We thought he was going to die. His hat slid
farther and farther upward on his dewy brow. His hands fluttered.
His cigar, grievously chewed, trembled in its corner of his mouth.
His fine dark eyes filled with tears.

The conductor, you see, was explaining that he would have to pay the
fare to North Philadelphia and then take the first train back from
there to Newark.

We feared, for a few minutes, that it really would be a case for a
chirurgeon, with cupping and leeching and smelling salts. Our rotund
friend was in a bad way. His heart, plainly, was broken. From his
right-hand trouser emerged a green roll. With delicate speed and
tact the conductor hastened this tragic part of the performance. His
silver punch flashed in his hand as he made change, issued a cash
slip, and noted the name and address of the victim, for some
possible future restitution, we surmised, or perhaps only as a
generous anaesthetic.

The stout man sat down a few seats in front of us and we studied his
back. We have never seen a more convincing display of chagrin. With
a sombre introspective stare he gazed glassily before him. We never
saw any one show less enthusiasm for the scenery. The train flashed
busily along through the level green meadows, which blended exactly
with the green plush of the seats, but our friend was lost in a
gruesome trance. Even his cigar (long since gone out) was still,
save for an occasional quiver.

The conductor came to our seat, looking, good man, faintly stern and
sad, like a good parent who has had, regretfully, to chastise an
erring urchin.

"Well," we said, "the next time that chap gets on a