_"
Izaak Walton
Car No. 14, Fifth Street line, Philadelphia, was crowded. Travelling
bags, shawls, and dusters marked that people were making for the 11 A.M.
New York train, Kensington depot. One pleasant-looking old gentleman
whose face shone under a broad brim, and whose cleanly drabs were
brought into distasteful proximity with the garments of a drunken
coal-heaver, after a vain effort to edge away, relieved his mind by
turning to his neighbor with the statement, "Consistency is a jewel."
"Undoubtedly true, Mr. Greenleaf," answered the neighbor, "but what
caused the remark?"
"That,"--looking with mild disgust at the dirty and ragged leg sitting
by his own. "Here's this filthy fellow, a nuisance to everybody near
him, can ride in these cars, and a nice, respectable colored person
can't. So I couldn't help thinking, and saying, that consistency is a
jewel."
"Well, it's a shame,--that's a fact; but of course nobody can interfere
if the companies don't choose to let them ride; it's their concern, not
ours."
"There's a fine specimen now, out there on the sidewalk." The fine
specimen was a large, powerfully made man, black as ebony, dressed in
army blouse and trousers, one leg gone,--evidently very tired, for he
leaned heavily on his crutches. The conductor, a kindly-faced young
fellow, pulled the strap, and helped him on to the platform with a
peremptory "Move up front, there!" to the people standing inside.
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