Now, it was nobody’s business how the chance fare got on the bus, or, indeed, whether she got on at all or was left standing on the asphalt, except the conductor’s and he was busy upstairs. Certainly it was no affair of Darcy’s; and the old Darcy would have taken that view in the improbable event of her having noticed the overweighted woman at all. The new Darcy was up instinctively and out like a flash. She grabbed the case and got a surprise. It weighed at least sixty pounds. Darcy had the basis for a fairly accurate estimate, as she had been recently occupying herself with a sixty-pound dumb-bell. Thanks to a persuasive quality of muscle which this exercise had imparted to her, she whisked the ponderous thing to the platform, and bore it victoriously inside. The woman followed, panting out her gratitude. As Darcy was setting her burden down, the bus gave an unexpected lurch and one end of the case landed upon a slightly projecting shoe. The owner of the shoe gave utterance to a startled and pained interjection. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” apologized Darcy, shifting the offending bag. The injured one turned upon her a smile as unruffled and good-humored as if his main enjoyment in life was having heavy things dropped on his feet. But there was no recognition in the smile nor in the brief glance which accompanied it. Yet the smiler was Mr. Jacob Remsen. “Entirely my fault,” said he. “Teach me to keep my feet out of the aisle.” Darcy murmured something muffled and incoherent. “Let me stow that for you,” offered Remsen, and, finding a spot for it beneath the steps, deposited it there, bowed in response to the thanks of the two women, and resumed his seat. The newcomer slipped in beside Darcy. “You work, don’t you?” asked she, timidly. “Yes. What makes you think so?” “Because you’re so kind. And you’re awful strong.” “That suitcase is much too heavy for you. You’ll injure yourself with it,” said Darcy, who was no larger than the other, severely. “Metal advertising cuts,” explained the other. “I only have to carry it twice a week.” “Where to?” “Thirtieth over beyond Third Av’nyeh.” “But that’s a terribly long way to carry that weight.” The woman sighed. “Yes, I know. It’s nearer by the Fourth Av’nyeh line, but I go this way because the bus conductors are so decent about helpin’ you on and off,” said she, paying a merited compliment to the most courteous and serviceable of New York’s transportation employees. “It’s worth the extra nickel.” “I’ll get off with you and give you a lift.” Different arrangements, however, were in process. Nearing the corner of the prospective debarkation Mr. Jacob Remsen arose, walked to the door, and vigorously yanked the corpulent valise from its nook. “I beg your pardon,” said he, dividing his impersonal and courteous regard between the two occupants of the seat, “but I overheard your conversation. It just happens that I’m bound for Third Avenue, myself. So, if you will permit me—”