Last July, my 12-year-old car died on California's Santa Freeway. It was an hour before sunset, and I was 25 miles from home. I couldn't reach anyone to pick me up, so I decided to take a bus. Not knowing the routes, I thought I'd just go east. A bus stopped. I got on and asked the driver how far she was going, "Ten more miles," she said. There was another bus I could take from there. This clearly was going to be a long night. I got off at the end of the route and she told me which bus to look for. After waiting 30 minutes, I began to think about a very expensive taxi ride home. Then a bus came up. There was no lighted number above its windshield. It was out of service, but the door opened. It was the same driver. "I just can't leave you here," she said. "This isn't the nicest place. I will give you a ride home." "You will drive me home on the bus?" I asked, _ . "No, I will take you in my car," she said. "It's a long way," I insisted. "Come on, " she said. "I have nothing else to do." As we drove from the station in the car, she began telling me a story, A few days earlier, her brother had run out of gas. A good man picked him up, took him to a service station and then back to his car. "I'm just passing the favor  along," she said. When I offered her money as a thank-you, she wouldn't accept. "Just do something nice for somebody. Pass it along," she said. The writer changed his mind after waiting 30 minutes because   _  .
he became impatient and a bit worried a taxi ride would be more comfortable he knew the driver would never return the bus driver had given him wrong information