I ask you, dearest friend, how dare he? And how could any reasonable man allow this confused, delusional bungler to use the trains to proselytize about his sadly illogical, misinformed miscalculations of the laws of science and ethics? As a paragon, he was sadly off the mark — although convinced of his utter rectitude — and he would need to be corrected.

And so it happened — as his widespread stance dared and taunted me — that my book soon slipped from my lap to the floor, resting deliberately against the taut calf of the offensive rear left limb. I was sorry to treat my beloved volume discourteously, however, and felt a pang of conscience as a dry leaf with penciled annotations separated from the book’s binding and slipped onto the dusty floor. But as this experiment was being conducted in the interests of science and to further the cause of knowledge, I felt that a brief callousness on my part could be justified.

But, my God, once again, the creature showed no notice of my trespass! He remained undeviating in his spread-eagle deportment — his legs wide, his arm vertically upright with elbow tightly locked, resisting even gravity’s pull as he swung and swayed above my alarmingly exposed torso.

Oh, how he lorded himself over me — as though he felt not a whisper of a touch from my dear walking stick on his ankle or from my beloved octavo against his calf.

What a brute! What a cloddish, loutish, oafish swine! How dare he attempt to intimidate me with his domineering ignorance?

For that was what I had before me, my friend. Yes, the creature presented to the world the ultimate in ignorance, intolerance, and oppression.

Even so, being a fair-minded sort of man — you know me well, my good friend; would you not agree that fairness and moderation are my hallmarks? — I calmed myself in the face of these outrages and vowed to allow this fanatic one more opportunity to prove his humanity, to show to his fellow mortals that he was indeed one of our species, flesh and blood, tender and warm-hearted, and that he could cast aside his wrongheaded interpretations of the cosmic laws of physics and philanthropy.

My station was fast approaching, and so for this third and final test, I made a show of collecting my meager possessions — my stick, my book, the modest bouquet of shrub roses that I had purchased from a vendor who priced his tired blossoms at a level that could be met by my severely circumscribed wages.

I thought that these rustlings would alert this effigy that loomed above me that I would soon rise from my seat and that therefore he — or it, to give the creature a more accurately descriptive pronoun — should begin to adjust those obdurate limbs in a fashion that would acknowledge my presence and account for my intention to rise from my seat and thereafter exit from the train.

But was there evident in his callous apathy an admission of another’s needs, another’s yearnings, a fellow human being’s desire to rise upward — to stand freely, unfettered by that sentry? Did those fence-pole arms and legs shift? Did that oppressive arm, a vertical bar of iron, soften?

Oh, no, no, no — of course not. How foolish I was to hope for anything more — for some glimmer of understanding, of compassion, of simple benevolence — from this being toward his fellow creature. Why, this unremitting obstinacy was truly staggering. It took my breath away.

I have no need to report to you, my friend — I know that you have already anticipated me — that the mule failed this third and final test.

There I stood. Actually, I could not stand. There I crouched — with knees bent, spine slumped, head bowed, my scant and flimsy possessions clutched in my inoffensive arms.

My lips mouthed the words “Excuse me. . . . Pardon me” — softly, gently, with great care taken not to startle or offend.

Or perhaps I did not speak these words aloud. Perhaps I thought them, spoke them solely with my docile gestures, which were so soft, so gentlemanly, so decent.

But my politesse fell on stone — on ears of stone, eyes of stone, heart of stone.

Oh no, you don’t, I thought, in the face of this silence and inaction. You are not the man to bully me, to browbeat me and block my path.

“This is my stop!” I announced, as the train’s wheels slowed, shrieked, and groaned. The familiar platform of my station was coming into view as the train approached its appointed destination. “Please, sir. This is where I stop. Allow me to pass!”

And still, the creature did not move. Could he not hear? He wore no visible auditory amplification devices. Could he not feel the train’s deceleration? Could he not see the station approaching — see me stooping beneath him?

Was I invisible? Was he my master, and I his slave?

“Get out of my way, sir! Move yourself!” I cried, fearing that the doors would open and shut before I would be able to reach them. I swung my walking stick — dear, lovely, solid artifact, so faithful and so true — swung down hard against his legs, again and again and again. Ah, the satisfying crack as the stick connected with the statue’s left knee.

Success! At last! The man turned his gaze to me in surprise, gasped as he released his left hand from the railing, and reached downward toward his knee. His bag — no longer swinging dangerously above my eyes — slipped from his arm and dropped onto the floor.

“Good!” I shouted, as I swung again, this time onto his back as he reached down to his bag. “Now you can show us that you, too, can bend.”

He sputtered an objection: “Stop! Please! Somebody help me!”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” My blows rained down hard on his legs, his back, his neck, even his head — that doltish, unyielding block — as my arm trembled from its exertions.

When the train came to a full stop, the wounded creature limped across the carriage and slumped onto a nearby bench, hands held to head as blood trickled from right eyebrow down to punctured upper lip. His tongue emerged briefly to taste the scarlet, ferrous evidence of his wound. Dazed, he no longer played the stiff-necked bully who had so recently intimidated all around him with his obstinacy.

Alas, in my furious agitation, I had not noticed that my poor shrub roses had joined my gallant stick in delivering these necessary lessons. The train’s floor and the creature’s bag were now covered with the blossoms’ crimson petals.

“So you are human, after all,” I announced as I collected my book and the remains of my bouquet.

I shook my stick one final time in his direction before I headed toward the exit doors. I felt magnificent, for I had waged a battle against the forces of darkness, and I had triumphed. Sic semper tyrannis! Yes, I had triumphed!

And for a moment, I savored the sound of my fellow passengers’ applause as I stood and straightened my coat and trousers.

Perhaps you would not have heard their acclamation, for my companions’ faces remained buried in their undoubtedly compelling reading materials, and their hand movements were so restrained that they were nearly — but not entirely — imperceptible.

But, my friend, I heard them. I heard their grateful thanks, the heart-felt cheers that my dear brothers and sisters delivered for my harsh but necessary acts of charity. And I felt humbled by their ovation and their gentle deference.

Before the train’s doors closed behind me, I turned, nodded respectfully, and bade them all a genial and benevolent adieu.