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Show For His Lady. It was a Sixth avenue "L" train. At Eighty-first street a little boy, who was evidently proud of his first pair of trousers, got on. Proud as he was of them, ha was still prouder of the white-haired old lady with him. His air of chivalrous devotion was one that the De Bayard himself could not have equaled, says the New York Times. But most of the people in the car were obilivious to it. They were oblivious ob-livious to everything save their papers, even to the fact that the small boy's grandmother was standing. For a moment he waited.- He could not quickly quick-ly conceive the idea of such monumental monu-mental disrespect to the queen of his heart. But when it broke upon him in its full significance masculine indignation in-dignation at the affront to his nearest near-est and dearest kindled his eye. She was his lady. He was her knight, loyal and true. And these men! Who were they to remain seated while she stood? He squared his shoulders, and with the spirit of one riding forth to do battle ringing in his voice cried out; "Say, you fellows, don't you see that my grandmother has to have a seat?" Men lowered their papers before the fury of his charge, and then well, the grandmother had her choice of the seats in that end of the car, and her j little knight won the guerdon of her ! smile. |