know his proper name. It's odd, isn't it, we know each other's faces so
well and yet we don't know each other's names. Now that we have towns for
names, it will be far more friendly, won't it? I always called you Cicero
to myself. Oh, I hardly know why--you looked a little satirical sometimes.
But now you're Pontresina, of course."

"Macclesfield to Pernambuco!"

"There!" laughed my companion. "I knew Macclesfield would be caught--he's
so stately, isn't he? But look how he's laughing. Do you know I never
thought any of the people in this car _could_ laugh, or even smile. I do
think this Society for the Abolition of Boredom in Public Conveyances is an
excellent thing, don't you?"

"Pontresina to St. Ives!"

Breathlessly we changed places; her black hat was a little crooked, but she
only laughed.

"I've lost my knitting, too," she said, "but I don't mind. This exercise
keeps one so warm these cold days."

The game was in wild progress; the car rocked and jolted and the
conductress shouted the names.

"General Post!" she called. "Those inside change places with those
outside."

That was the most breathlessly exciting moment of the whole game. There was
a solid struggling mass of humanity on the tram staircase. Those without