approach so close to reality; the visiting stranger seldom can; he must
be content with his imaginative visions.

[Illustration: PART OF THE DAILY ROUND OF THE INDOMITABLE NEW YORK
WOMAN]

Now and then I had the good-fortune to come across illuminating stories
of New York dailiness, tales of no important event, but which lit up for
me the whole expanse of existence in the hinterlands of the Elevated.
As, for instance, the following. The tiny young wife of the ambitious
and feverish young man is coming home in the winter afternoon. She is
forced to take the street-car, and in order to take it she is forced to
fight. To fight, physically, is part of the daily round of the
average fragile, pale, indomitable New York woman. In the swaying crowd
she turns her head several times, and in tones of ever-increasing
politeness requests a huge male animal behind her to refrain from
pushing. He does not refrain. Being skilled, as a mariner is skilled in
beaching himself and a boat on a surfy shore, she does ultimately
achieve the inside of the car, and she sinks down therein apparently
exhausted. The huge male animal follows, and as he passes her,
infuriated by her indestructible politeness, he sticks his head against
her little one and says, threateningly, "What's the matter with you,
anyway?" He could crush her like a butterfly, and, moreover, she is
about ready to faint. But suddenly, in uncontrollable anger, she lifts
that tiny gloved hand and catches the huge male animal a smart smack in
the face. "Can't you be polite?" she hisses. Then she drops back,
blushing, horrified by what she has done. She sees another man throw the
aghast male animal violently out of the car, and then salute her with:
"Madam, I take off my hat to you." And the tired car settles down to
apathy, for, after all, the incident is in its essence part of the