But as the car began to fill up, I knew the bag at my side must soon give way to another kind of neighbor, and presently down the aisle he came.  From a perpendicular standpoint he was small, but horizontally, he was immense, and I viewed his approach with some alarm.

There was a merry twinkle in his eye, and his face beamed with good nature as he said, “Ah, I see you have room for a wedge at your side; allow me to put it in place.”  With considerable effort and a good deal of tight squeezing, he at last settled down in the seat, remarking, with a merry laugh, “Here I am at last;” and there I was too, and there I was likely to remain, if that wedge did not fly out, or the side of the car give way.

“Have you room enough?” I slyly inquired.

“Plenty of room, thank you,” he replied; “I trust you are nice and snug.”

“Never more snug in my life.”

“That’s right; the loose way in which most people travel is a continual menace to life and limb.  I believe in keeping things snug, spiritually, physically, socially, financially and politically snug.  And if things are spiritually snug, all the others must be so, as a matter of course.  I learned that fact years ago in England.”

“Are you an Englishman,” I inquired.

“No, sir; I’m a Presbyterian” he laughingly replied; “my father was born in England, my mother was born in Ohio, and I was born the first time in New Jersey.  Then on a visit to England I was ‘born again.’  My father was a Methodist; my mother was a Quaker, so of course I had to be a Presbyterian.”

His unctuous laughter made the seat tremble.  “Not a blue one, mind you.  Blue?  Not a bit of it.  Why, bless you, when I became a Christian, all the blue went out of my heart and went into my sky.

“My father was physically large—­I take after him.  My mother—­” he stopped abruptly and lifted his hat reverently; the tears filled his eyes and coursed down his cheeks, and presently, with choking voice he continued: 

“My mother, God bless her memory, was the best woman and the grandest Christian I ever knew.  She lives in heaven, and she lives in my heart.  I would that I were as much like mother spiritually as I resemble father physically.”

The tender pathos of his voice, as he said this, made me feel that his sainted mother, were she present, would have no reason to feel ashamed of her son.

As he was about to replace his hat on his head, I noticed in large letters pasted on the lining, these words, “Hinder nobody—­help everybody.”

“Excuse me, sir;” I said, as I pointed to the words, “what is the meaning of that?”

Quickly the tears on his cheeks, were illuminated by a smile as he said—­“That’s my watchword; I carry it in my hat, have it hung up on my wall at home, and since I went into my present business, I’ve tried to make it the daily practice of my life.”

“May I inquire what your business is?”