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Show I SHORT STORIES ) OF STREET AND- TOWN J The South Temple, East Fourth South, penitentiary, etc., car Was running run-ning along at a merry clip, and was well fined with passengers bound for their various places of employment a mornlngor two ago. ' Every one In the car seemed In a hurry hur-ry to get to town, as the car was already al-ready several precious minutes behind time. t Then something happened, the "car stopped. The motorman and conductor conduct-or tried, to make It gor but they couldn't. t The power was off. It was apparently apparent-ly determined to stay off long enough to make every one in the car late to his work. Passengers fumed and fussed. Motorman Mo-torman and conductor threw on thfe light switch, and then entering the car, sat down enjoying the warmth, while they waited. Ten minutes continued to spin past, but still no current was to be had. The passenpere stopped fuming ..and fretting fret-ting and Degah to roar. - - This availed them naught, and every one but a stout old Englishman who Bat in a corner conning a morning paper, pa-per, seemed to be In particularly ugly humor. The roar that went up .was deep and loud and Ions. After armo-ment armo-ment of silence the Englishman, In a squeaky voice, and with an inimitable drawl, said: "III. portah, make up me berth. Hi am a' goi' to stay all night." There was a titter of amusement from those who heard him, and there were but few lni the car who did not It struck a new note. Others got into harmony with the new note, and the rest of the stay of the car was filled with jokes and good-humored sallies. The power came on again ' in a few minutes. The motorman made up the greater part of the lost time, and every one felt better because the Englishman had not lout his sense of humor in a trying circumstance. Three of The Telegram's newsies v'ere walking to the office after their afternoon "poipers" recently, and when one of them started a discussion about that canny Scot, Andrew Carnegie. "Carnegie's a pretty good old Scotchman, Scotch-man, 'cause he srives dose liberies to us kids," said No. One. "Scotchman nothin'." ' retorted No. Tr.-o. "He ain't no Scotchman: he's a Merlcan." "Aw, go on, wot's ectln' youse, he's Scotch," was the retort courteous. "He ain't nelder," filing back No. Tvo vigoroufly. "I tells youse he's 'Merlcan. Didn't be uster sell pol-pers?" pol-pers?" And the discussion ended. |