motorman.  On this car, chatting merrily with the handler of the lever, sat a black-eyed, pretty-faced Latin type of brunette.  That he was happy was evidenced by his good-natured laugh and the huge smile that covered his face from ear to ear as he responded to her sallies.  Just then a young Italian came on the car, directly to the front, and seemed nettled to see the young lady talking so freely with the motorman.  He saluted her with a frown upon his face, but evidently with familiarity.  The change in the girl’s demeanor was instantaneous.  Evidently she did not wish to offend the newcomer, nor did she wish to break with the motorman.  All were ill at ease, distraught, vexed, worried.  She tried to bring the newcomer into the conversation, which he refused.  The motorman eyed him with hostility now and again, as he dared to neglect his duty, but smiled uneasily in the face of the girl when she addressed him with an attempt at freedom.

Bye and bye the youth took the empty seat by the side of the girl, and endeavored to draw her into conversation to the exclusion of the motorman.  She responded, twisting her body and face towards him, so that her sweet and ingratiating smiles could not be seen by the motorman.  Then, she reversed the process and gave a few fleeting smiles to the grim-looking motorman.  It was as clear a case of

  How happy could I be with either,
  Were t’other dear charmer away,

as one could well see.

Just then the car came to a transfer point.  The girl had a transfer and left, smiling sweetly, but separately, in turn, to the motorman and her young Italian friend.  The latter watched her go.  Then a new look came over his face, which I wondered at.  It was soon explained.  The transfer point was also a division point for this car.  The motorman and conductor were changed, and the moment the new crew came, our motorman jumped from his own car, ran to the one the brunette had taken, and swung himself on, as it crossed at right angles over the track we were to take.  Rising to his feet the youth watched the passing car, with keenest interest until it was out of sight, clearly revealing the jealousy, worry, and unrest he felt.

In another chapter I have dealt more fully with the subject of the worries of jealousy.  They are demons of unrest and distress, destroying the very vitals with their incessant gnawing.

Too great emphasis cannot be placed upon the physical ills that come from worry.  The body unconsciously reflects our mental states.  A fretful and worrying mother should never be allowed to suckle her child, for she directly injures it by the poison secreted in her milk by the disturbances caused in her body by the worry of her mind.  Among the many wonderfully good things said in his lifetime Henry Ward Beecher never said a wiser and truer thing than that “it is not the revolution which destroys the machinery, but the friction.”  Worry is the friction that shatters the machine.  Work, to the healthy body and serene mind, is a joy, a blessing, a health-giving exercise, but to the worried is a burden, a curse and a destroyer.