The conductor snapped his bell for
starting, with a look of patient sarcasm. "See that?" he asked
Lemuel. "Some these women act as if the cars was their private
carriage; and _you_ got to act so _too_, or the lady complains of you,
and the company bounces you in a minute. Stock's owned along the line,
and they think they own _you_ too. You can't get 'em to set more
than ten on a side; they'll leave the car first. I'd like to catch
'em on some the South End or Cambridge cars. I'd show 'em how to pack
live stock once, anyway. Yes, sir, these ladies that ride on this line
think they can keep the car standin' while they talk about the opera.
But you'd ought to see how they all look if a _poor_ woman tries
their little game. Oh, I tell you, rich people are hard."
Lemuel reflected upon the generalisation. He regarded Miss Vane as a
rich person; but though she had blamed him unjustly, and had used
him impatiently, even cruelly, in this last affair, he remembered
other things, and he said--
"Well, I don't know as I should say all of them were hard."
"Well, may be not," admitted the conductor. "But I don't envy 'em.
The way I look at it, and the way I tell my wife, I wouldn't want
their money 'f I had to have the rest of it. Ain't any of 'em happy.
I saw that when I lived out. No, sir; what me and my wife want to do
is to find us a nice little place in the country.
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