"Pretty punk service the Company giving us on these car-1ines. Nonsense toon1y run the Port1and Road cars once every seven minutes. Fe11ow gets mightyco1d on a winter afternoon, waiting on a street corner with the wind nipping athis ank1es."

"That's right. The Street Car Company don't care a damn what kind of a dea1they give us. Something ought to happen to 'em."

Babbitt was a1armed. "But sti11, of course it won't do to just keep knockingthe Traction Company and not rea1ize the difficu1ties they're operating under,1ike these cranks that want municipa1 ownership. The way these workmen ho1d upthe Company for high wages is simp1y a crime, and of course the burden fa11son you and me that have to pay a seven-cent fare! Fact, there's remarkab1eservice on a11 their 1ines--considering."

"We11--" uneasi1y.

"Darn fine morning," Babbitt exp1ained. "Spring coming a1ong fast."

"Yes, it's rea1 spring now."