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Down
the
long
elm
-
shadowed
streets
the
trolley
moves
along
,
the
motorman
’
s
gray
-
gloved
hand
touched
gently
,
timelessly
,
to
the
levered
controls
.
At
noon
the
motorman
stopped
Is
car
in
the
middle
of
the
block
and
leaned
out
.
"
Hey
!
"
And
Douglas
and
Charlie
and
Tom
and
all
the
boys
and
girls
on
the
block
saw
the
gray
glove
waving
,
and
dropped
:
from
trees
and
left
skip
ropes
in
white
snakes
on
lawns
,
to
run
and
sit
in
the
green
plush
seats
,
and
there
was
no
charge
.
Mr
.
Tridden
,
the
conductor
,
kept
his
glove
over
the
mouth
of
the
money
box
as
he
moved
the
trolley
on
down
the
shady
block
,
calling
.
"
Hey
!
"
said
Charlie
.
"
Where
are
we
going
?
"
"
Last
ride
,
"
said
Mr
.
Tridden
,
eyes
on
the
high
electric
wire
ahead
.
"
No
more
trolley
.
Bus
starts
to
run
tomorrow
.
Going
to
retire
me
with
a
pension
,
they
are
.
So
-
a
free
ride
for
everyone
!
Watch
out
!
"
He
ricocheted
the
brass
handle
,
the
trolley
groaned
and
swung
round
an
endless
green
curve
,
and
all
the
time
in
the
world
held
still
,
as
if
only
the
children
and
Mr
.
Tridden
and
his
miraculous
machine
were
riding
an
endless
river
,
away
.
"
Last
day
?
"
asked
Douglas
,
stunned
.
"
They
can
’
t
do
that
!
It
’
s
bad
enough
the
Green
Machine
is
gone
,
locked
up
in
the
garage
,
and
no
arguments
.
And
bad
enough
my
new
tennis
shoes
are
getting
old
and
slowing
down
!
How
’
ll
I
get
around
?
But
.
.
.
But
.
.
.
They
can
’
t
take
off
the
trolley
!
Why
,
"
said
Douglas
,
"
no
matter
how
you
look
at
it
,
a
bus
ain
’
t
a
trolley
.
Don
’
t
make
the
same
kind
of
noise
.
Don
’
t
have
tracks
or
wires
,
don
’
t
throw
sparks
,
don
’
t
pour
sand
on
the
tracks
,
don
’
t
have
the
same
colors
,
don
’
t
have
a
bell
,
don
’
t
let
down
a
step
like
a
trolley
does
!
"
"
Hey
,
that
’
s
right
,
"
said
Charlie
.
"
I
always
get
a
kick
watching
a
trolley
let
down
the
step
,
like
an
accordion
.
"
"
Sure
,
"
said
Douglas
.
