, the doors fly ope',
People press against the rope.
And some are stout and some are thin
And some get out and some get in.
Again I go. Beginning slow
I race, I chase at a terrible pace,
I flash and I dash with never a crash,
I hurry, I scurry with never a flurry.
I tear along, flare along, singing my lightning song,
"I'm the rushing, speeding, racing, fleeting, rapid subway car."

THE SUBWAY CAR

Whew-ee-ee-ee-ew-ew went the siren whistle. And all the men and all the
women hurried toward the factory. For that meant it was time to begin
work. Each man and each woman went to his particular machine. The steam
was up; the belts were moving; the wheels were whirring; the piston rods
were shooting back and forth. And one man made a piece of wheel, and one
man made a part of a brake, and one man made a belt, and one man made
a leather strap, and one man made a door, and one man made some
straw-covered seats, and one man made a window-frame, and one man made
a little wire brush. And then some other men took all these things and
began putting them together. And when the car was finished some other
men came and painted it, and on the side they painted the number 793.

The car stood on the siding wondering what he was for and what he was to
do. Suddenly he heard another car come bumping and screeching down the
track. Before the new car could think what was happening,--bang!--the
battered old car went smash into him. This seemed to be just what the
man standing along side expected. For the car felt him swing on to the
steps, and shout "Go ahead." At the same minute the car felt a piece of
iron slip from his own rear and hook into the front of the other car.

And "go ahead" he did, though No. 793 thought he would be wrenched to
pieces.

"Whatever is happening to me?" he nervously asked the car that was
pushing him. "I feel my wheels going round and round underneath me and I
can't stop them. Can't you just hear me creak? I'm afraid I will split
in two."

The dilapidated old thing behind simply screamed with delight as he
jounced over a switch.

"See here, now," he said in a rasping voice, "what do you think wheels
are for anyway if they are not to go round? And if you can't hang
together in a quiet little jaunt like this, you had better turn into a
baby carriage and be done with it. Say, what do you think you were made
for anyway, Freshie?"

With this he gave a vicious pull. F