saying.

"You mustn't think, you must _know_," said the conductor, gazing
shrewdly at him above the rims of his demi-lune spectacles. "Now,
why did you get on a train without making sure where it stopped? You
heard the brakeman say: 'Newark and Philadelphia'? No; he said
'North Philadelphia.' Yes, I know you were in a hurry, but that
wasn't our fault, was it? Now, let me tell you something: I've been
working for this company for twenty-five years...."

Unhappily the noise of the train prevented us from hearing the
remark that followed. We were remembering a Chinese translation that
we made once. It went something like this:

A SUSPICIOUS NATURE

_Whenever I travel
I ask at least three train-men
If this is the right train
For where I am going,
Even then
I hardly believe them._

But as we watched the two, the conductor gently convincing the
irate passenger that he would have to abide by his mistake, and the
truculent fat man gradually realizing that he was hopelessly in the
wrong, a new aspect subtly came over the dialogue. We saw the stout
man wither and droop. We thought he was going to die. His hat slid
farther and farther upward on his dewy brow. His hands fluttered.
His cigar, grievously chewed, trembled in its corner of his mouth.