She was there, all right, there at the gate. The Conductor was
seemingly as gratified as I. He turned his charges over to the old
woman, who was weeping for joy, and hugging the children between
bursts of lavish, loving Deutsch.

I climbed into a Parmelee bus and said, “Auditorium Annex, please.”

And as I sat there in the bus, while they were packing the grips on
top, the Conductor passed by, carrying a tin box in one hand and his
train cap in the other.

I saw an Elk’s tooth on his watch-chain.

I called to him, “I saw you help the babies—good boy!”

He looked at me in doubt.

“Those German children,” I said; “I’m glad you were so kind to them!”

“Oh,” he answered, smiling; “yes, I had forgotten; why, of course,
that is a railroad man’s business, you know—to help everybody who
needs help.”

He waved his hand and disappeared up the stairway that led to the
offices.

And it came to me that he had forgotten the incident so soon, simply
because to help had become the habit of his life. He may read this,
and he may not. There he was—big, bold, bluff and bronzed, his hair