At the other end of the line the passengers noisily descended to the street and there was another carful waiting to take their place for the return trip. De Lacey Street knew that Pop Dillon would not accept a donation of money. But he could not refuse the fares of legitimate riders on his line; the law forbade it. So they rode and paid in triumph.
For three or four trips back and forth this lasted. Then Jane, at first overjoyed and touched at this homely tribute being rendered her grandfather, now began to watch the old man carefully. Was the excitement proving too much for him? His face was paling and perspiration stood out on his forehead. The lines were trembling in his hand. She was about to speak to him and suggest that he let her take a turn at driving, as she had often done, when he without a word collapsed and crumpled in a heap on the floor of his platform.
Jane cried out and leaped to his side. But the strong arms of Chris Walters had already gripped Pop. As if understanding what had happened, Nellie stopped abruptly. Chris roared to the people to get off the car and carried Pop to his delicatessen store, in front of which the car happened to be at the moment. Jane brought a glass of water and splashed some in Pop's face. From some unknown source Chris's husky son produced something stronger and forced it down the elderly man's throat. His eyes fluttered and he regained consciousness. In a moment he seemed to be entirely himself.
"That was a darned silly thing to do," he said
