now there aren't any seats left. Male
passengers, swinging aboard behind her, have already scrouged on by her
and taken the vacant places.

In the mind of one of the men in her immediate vicinity chivalry
triumphs over impatience. He gives a shrug of petulance, arises and begs
her to have his seat. She is not entitled to it on any ground, save
compassion upon his part. By refusing to use the eyes in her head she
has forfeited all right to special consideration. But he surrenders his
place to her and she takes it.

The car bumps along. The conductor, making his rounds, reaches her. She
knows he is coming; at least she should know it. A visit from the
conductor has been a feature of every one of the thousands of street-car
rides that she has taken in her life. She might have been getting her
fare ready for him. There are a dozen handy spots where she might have
had a receptacle built for carrying small change--in a pocket in her
skirt, in a fob at her belt, in her sleeve or under her cuff. Counting
fob pockets and change pockets, a man has from nine to fifteen pockets
in his everyday garments. If also he is wearing an overcoat, add at
least three more pockets to the total. It would seem that she might have
had at least one dependable pocket. But she has none.

The conductor stops, facing her, and meanwhile wearing on his face that
air of pained resignation which is common to the faces of conductors on
transportation lines that are heavily patronized by women travelers. In
mute demand he extends toward her a soiled palm. With hands encased in
oversight gloves she fumbles at the catch of a hand bag. Having wrested
the hand bag open, she paws about among its myriad and mysterious
contents. A card of buttons, a sheaf of samples, a handkerchief, a
powder puff for inducing low visibility of the human nose, a small
parcel of something, a nail file, and other minor articles are disclosed
before she disinters her purse from the bottom of her hand bag. Another
struggle with the clasp of the purse ensues; finally, one by one, five
coppers are fished up out of the depths and presented to the conductor.
The lady has made a difficult, complicated rite of what might have been
a simple and a swift formality.

The car proceeds upon its course. She sits in her seat, wearing that
look of comfortable self-absorption which a woman invariably wears when
she is among strangers, and when she feels herself to be well dressed
and making a sat