At the corner of 44th Street and Broadway, New York, the street car tracks, in making the turn, swing in quite near to the curb; in fact, there is just room enough for a single vehicle to drive between them. One night as my wife and I were driving down in our automobile we reached this corner just as an uptown car and a downtown car were meeting there. The uptown car stopped to let off a passenger. The An old Irish lady got off the uptown car. She had an armful of bundles, and had on a sailor hat, with no hat pins in it; so that she had to keep tossing her head to keep it balanced and straight. She walked around the back of the uptown car—just in season to walk in front of the downtown car. The motorman sounded his bell, "Bang! Bang!" The old lady gave a yell and a jump—and landed right in front of our car. I sounded the horn, "Squawk! Squawk!" and she gave another yell and another jump, off to the side, and the sailor hat fell off, right in front of our car. The old lady started to go back for the hat; I slammed on the brakes and threw out the clutch. When I threw out the clutch the engine raced for a moment—"W-h-i-r-r-r-r!" Again the old lady yelled and jumped back. And standing in the gutter, she shook her fist at me and screamed— "—— —— you, don't you boomp me!" "Go on and get your hat," I said, "I won't bump you." As I drove on, I gave one glance back; and the bundles, hat and bicycle lay in the gutter, while the boy was on the dead run up Broadway with the old lady after him. |