A woman, carrying a small dog in her arms, boarded a streetcar in New York and earnestly begged the conductor to tell her when they reached 42nd Street. As she seemed unusually anxious, he said he would.
At the first stop they made after leaving 72nd Street, she glanced appealingly at the other passengers.
At the next stop she half rose to her feet. "Fifty-ninth! " called the conductor.
At 50th Street she stumbled forward, but the conductor laid a detaining hand upon her. "Not yet, Madam. I told you that I would tell you when we get there."
"How soon shall we get there?" she asked, breathlessly.
The conductor looked wearily at her. "I will tell you when we get there," he repeated.
At last, looking pointedly at her, he shouted loudly, "FORTY-SECOND STREET! FORTY-SECOND STREET!"
The woman clutched her dog and, standing up, lifted him to the window. "O, Fido," she said, almost tearfully, "look, look, Fido! That's 42nd Street, where you were born."
At the first stop they made after leaving 72nd Street, she glanced appealingly at the other passengers.
At the next stop she half rose to her feet. "Fifty-ninth! " called the conductor.
At 50th Street she stumbled forward, but the conductor laid a detaining hand upon her. "Not yet, Madam. I told you that I would tell you when we get there."
"How soon shall we get there?" she asked, breathlessly.
The conductor looked wearily at her. "I will tell you when we get there," he repeated.
At last, looking pointedly at her, he shouted loudly, "FORTY-SECOND STREET! FORTY-SECOND STREET!"
The woman clutched her dog and, standing up, lifted him to the window. "O, Fido," she said, almost tearfully, "look, look, Fido! That's 42nd Street, where you were born."