s_ Sea Cliff and Glen
Cove; it don't make Salamis." To be more purist still, one should
refer to the train as "he" (as a kind of extension of the engineer's
personality, we suppose). If you want to speak with the tongue of a
veteran, you will say, "He makes Sea Cliff and Glen Cove."

The commuter has a chance to observe all manner of types among his
brethren. On our line we all know by sight the two fanatical checker
players, bent happily over their homemade board all the way to town.
At Jamaica they are so absorbed in play that the conductor--this is
the conductor who is so nervous about missing a fare and asks
everyone three times if his ticket has been punched--has to rout
them out to change to the Brooklyn train. "How's the game this
morning?" says someone. "Oh, I was just trimming him, but they made
us change." However thick the throng, these two always manage to
find seats together. They are still hard at it when Atlantic Avenue
is reached, furiously playing the last moves as the rest file out.
Then there is the humorous news-agent who takes charge of the
smoking car between Jamaica and Oyster Bay. There is some mysterious
little game that he conducts with his clients. Very solemnly he
passes down the aisle distributing rolled-up strips of paper among
the card players. By and by it transpires that some one has won a
box of candy. Just how this is done we know not. Speaking of card
players, observe the gaze of anguish on the outpost. He dashes
ahead, grabs two facing seats and sits in one with a face contorted
with anxiety for fear that the others will be too late to join him.
As soon as a card game is started there are always a half dozen
other men who watch it, following every play with painful scrutiny.
It seems that watching other people play cards is the most absorbing
amusement known to the commuter.

Then there is the man who carries a heavy bag packed with books. A
queer creature, this. Day by day he lugs that bag with him yet
spends all his time reading the papers and rarely using the books he
carries. His pipe always goes out just as he reaches his station;
frantically he tries to fill and light it before the train stops.
Sometimes he digs deeply into the bag and brings out a large slab of
chocolate, which he eats with an air of being slightly ashamed of
himself. The oddities of this person do not amuse us any the less
because he happens to be ourself.

So fares the commuter: a figure as international