And then I had a vivid recollection of a fellow-passenger who, at a
certain breakfast station in Illinois, frantically enwrapped his
portion of this national pastry in his red bandana handkerchief,
took it into the smoking-car, and quietly devoured it en route.
Lying broad awake, I could not help making some observations which
I think are not noticed by the day traveler. First, that the speed
of a train is not equal or continuous. That at certain times the
engine apparently starts up, and says to the baggage train behind
it, "Come, come, this won't do! Why, it's nearly half-past two;
how in h-ll shall we get through? Don't you talk to ME. Pooh,
pooh!" delivered in that rhythmical fashion which all meditation
assumes on a railway train. Exempli gratia: One night, having
raised my window-curtain to look over a moonlit snowy landscape, as
I pulled it down the lines of a popular comic song flashed across
me. Fatal error! The train instantly took it up, and during the
rest of the night I was haunted by this awful refrain: "Pull down
the bel-lind, pull down the bel-lind; simebody's klink klink, O
don't be shoo-shoo!" Naturally this differs on the different
railways.
Pages:
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268