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seconds the desperate mob has scattered and gone about its business, except about a hundred who remain to search for Willie’s nickel.”

“I never heard of a mob in our city doing violence to a motorman because of an accident,” said the New Yorker.

“You are not liable to,” said the tall man. “They know the motorman’s all right, and that he wouldn’t even run over a stray dog if he could help it. And they know that not a man among ’em would tie the knot to hang even a Thomas cat that had been tried and condemned and sentenced according to law.”

“Then why do they become infuriated and make threats of lynching?” asked the New Yorker.

“To assure the motorman,” answered the tall man, “that he is safe. If they really wanted to do him up they would go into the houses and drop bricks on him from the third-story windows.”

“New Yorkers are not cowards,” said the other man, a little stiffly.

“Not one at a time,” agreed the tall man promptly. “You’ve got a fine lot of single-handed scrappers in your town. I’d rather fight three of you than one; and I’d go up against all the Gas Trust’s victims in a bunch before I’d pass two citizens on a dark corner, with my watch chain showing. When you get rounded up in a bunch you lose your nerve. Get you in crowds and you’re easy. Ask the ‘L’ road guards and George B. Cortelyou and the tintype booths at Coney Island. Divided you stand, united you fall.