It was a long way, for no cars were running, and the day was cold; but he trudged along grimly.

Once in Brooklyn, he could clearly see and feel that a strike was on.

People showed it in their manner.
Along the routes of certain tracks not a car was running.

About certain corners and nearby saloons small groups of men were lounging.

Several spring wagons passed him, equipped with plain wooden chairs, and labeled "Flatbush" or "Prospect Park.