"I've lost my knitting, too," she said, "but I don't mind. This exercise
keeps one so warm these cold days."
The game was in wild progress; the car rocked and jolted and the
conductress shouted the names.
"General Post!" she called. "Those inside change places with those
outside."
That was the most breathlessly exciting moment of the whole game. There was
a solid struggling mass of humanity on the tram staircase. Those without
were pushing frantically to come down; we were shoving to get up.
The lady called St. Ives was thumping my shoulders.
"Climb up the railing," she said.
Somehow I did it, and leaned down to catch her hands and drag her upwards.
We launched ourselves breathlessly on to the furthest seat.
Stout old Macclesfield was the next. He had lost his hat and his white hair
was ruffled.
"I'm here," he said. "Macclesfield for ever!"
The flapper had scrambled up the front staircase against the rules. She
cast herself down beside Macclesfield.
"Here I am, old dear," she exclaimed. "I left York simply _jammed_ in the
wedge. Oh, isn't it fun? I never laughed so much.
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