The only difference is that the street cars have a sour taste like a lemon squeezer.

When you get out you cannot get in and when you get in you cannot get out because you hate to disturb the strange gentleman that is using your knee to lean over.

[Illustration]

Between the seats there is a space of two feet, but in that space you will always find four feet and their owners, unless one of them happens to have a wooden leg.  Under ordinary circumstances four into two won’t go, but the sardine-cars defy the laws of gravitation.

A sardine-car conductor can put twenty-six into nine and still have four to carry.

The idea of expansion which is now used by our Congress was suggested by one of these sardine-cars.

The ladies of America have started a rebellion against the sardine-cars, but every time they start it the conductor pulls the bell and leaves the rebellious standing on the corner.

We are a very nervous and careless people in America.  To prove how careless we are I will cite the fact that Manhattan Island is called after a cocktail.

This nervousness is our undoing because we are always in such a hurry to get somewhere that we would rather take the first car and get squeezed into breathlessness than wait for the next which would likely squeeze us into insensibility.

Breathlessness can be cured, but insensibility is dangerous without an alarm clock.

For a man with a small dining-room the sardine-car has its advantages, but when a stout man rides in them he finds himself supporting a lot of strangers he never met before.

One morning I jumped on one of those sardine-cars feeling just like a two-year-old, full of health and happiness.

During the first seven blocks three men fresh from a distillery grew up in front of me and removed the scenery.

One of them had to get out in a hurry so he kicked me on the shins to show how sorry he was to leave me.

One of the other two must have been in the distillery a long time because pretty soon he neglected to use his memory and sat down in my lap.

When I remonstrated with him he replied that this is a free country and if he wished to sit down I had no business to stop him.

Then his friend pulled us apart and I resumed the use of my lap.

During the next twenty blocks I had one of the worst daylight nightmares I ever rode behind.

The party which had been studying the exhibits in the distillery got the idea in his head that my foot was the loud pedal on a piano and he started to play the overture from William Tell until I yelled “W’at’ell!”

That man was such a hard drinker that he gave me the gout just from standing on my feet.

Then I jumped off and swore off and swore at and walked home.

If the man who invented the idea of standing up between the seats in a sardine-car is alive he should have a monument.