Thus like a lamb led to the slaughter did T. Otis trot after Bonnie Doon back even unto the uttermost car. For of all the words of tongue or pen there are none so irresistible to a dasher or a masher as “Say, there’s a girl in the last car who wants to know if you’re going to speak to her.” And, be it remembered, there were three long days—and nights—until Thursday. Thus, as No. 1112 dropped beneath the cellars of the western bank of the Hudson, T. Otis worked his way at Bonnie Doon’s coat tails through the nine ot…
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