Bothered by the Yellows

An Old Man Makes His Feelings Known to All the Other Passengers,
and Embarrasses the Reader.

     Car No. 2,087 of the Nostrand avenue line was heading for the Broadway ferries this morning, when a wiry-looking man, with gray hair, got aboard at Halsey street. He took a seat among the smokers, in the rear, and within the next five minutes had engaged in conversation with nearly every passenger within hearing distance.
     At the corner of Myrtle avenue a leather-lunged newsboy was crying his wares.
     “Joinel! Extree, Joinel.”
     The old man looked at him, and as he drew near called out gruffly:
     “Have you got the Journal?”
     “Yep. Here y’ are.”
     “Well, throw it in the sewer.”
     The old man took lots of satisfaction from the remark, and he frowned and appeared disgusted when the other passengers looked around. They kept their eyes on him for several blocks, expecting something to happen if any one [sic] entered with a Journal.
     Sure enough, a fine-looking man, with a Van Dyke beard, too khis [sic] place beside the old man, hauled a Journal from his pocket, and proceeded to read some of the pretty things that sheet has been saying about President McKinley since the bullet’s work proved fatal.
     For two or three blocks no notice was taken of the yellow, but finally the old man’s eyes alighted upon it.
     “You’re reading the Journal, are you? Well, I wouldn’t sit alongside of you. I’m afraid of you and your kind ”
     Then he arose hastily and skipped along the side of the car to the front seats, where he was in safe company, with women all about him.
     The reader of the Journal asked the people around him if the fellow was crazy. He got no reply. He was seen to look thoughtfully into the air for a few moments, then he folded the paper up and stuck it in his pocket. He got off at the next corner.