OUT WEST.
“Ann Arbor!” cried the conductor, looking in at
the door. Mrs. Partington looked round, and, seeing
nobody move, she resumed her knitting. “Ann Arbor,”
said another voice, at the door of the rear end of the
car. “Well, I declare,” said the old lady, “I hope he
will find her. — Can you tell me, sir,” said she, reaching
over the back of the seat, and speaking to a gentleman
with a plush cap on, and a ticket sticking in the front
of it, “who Miss Ann Arbor is?” — “Nein ferstan,”
replied he. — “Well,” she continued, “I did n't mean
nothing contemptible, and it would n't have cost you
anything to have given a civil answer.” The man
looked persistently out of the window, and the cars
moved on, Mrs. Partington consoling herself with the
reflection that Ann Arbor must be in the other car.
