A REAL LADY.

Western Star, Issue 944, 2 May 1885, Page 1 (Supplement)

A REAL LADY.

It was 6.80 in the evening. All the seats on the up-town train of the Sixthavenue elevated road were occupied, most of them by spruce-looking clerks, who hid their faces behind the evening papers and tried to “make believe” they didn’t know that any women were standing. A young lady got in at Fourteenth street. She was pretty, but it could be seen at a glance that she was not of the sort susceptible of being “mashed.” The young clerks shifted their papers to get a glance at her, and hastily hid behind them again, She grasped a strap opposite a shaggyheaded, weather-scarred Irishman, whose knotty hands and soiled clothes showed that he was one of the hardworking sons of toil. “ Take this sate, ma’am,” he said, rising and walking toward the end of the car, intending to brace himself against the door. “ Thank you, sir, ” said the young lady, taking the seat. It was not a perfunctory “ Thank you,” nor a demonstrative “ Thank you,” but it was given with a genuine cordiality and the intonation of good breed, ing, and was accompanied by a pleasant smile. The young clerks popped out their heads from behind their papers and each one felt that he would have willingly resigned his seat, and stood up for an hour to have such a “Thank you sir,” addressed to him. The Irishman turned on his heel, and his eyes opened wide and his jaws dropped in astonishment. Then a broad grin of satisfaction illuminated his homely, but honest face. ‘ Excoose me, mum, for making so bould as to spake to ye,’ said he, touching his hat respectfully, ‘ but ye be the first leddy that ever said tbanky to me loike that fur gie’en ’er a sate.’