The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1892-06-01

The Only Hostelry in One Long Isisnd
Il Village Is the Insane Asylum, Where
the Crazy Inmates Make Things Lively
During the Night.
Newspaper reporters sometimes have
unpleasant experiences in covering ssas-
signments," and the writer had one OF
them in little Long Island town not
long ago. Some one had made serious
charges against the manner in which
patients were treated in one of the in
sane asylums at place not a great
many miles from this city. The re-
porter alighted from the train at little
station about an hours ride from town
and spent several hours in making in
quiries for the information which his
paper wanted, but of that it is not nee
essary to say anything here.
Being so near to the city and as it was
early in the day he had not bothered
himself about the time of trains, think
ing it would be time enough to do this
when he was ready to return home.
Upon approaching the station when he
was ready to return to town he was i'm
pressed by the deserted appearance Of
the building. He walked up to the door
confidently and tried to open it, but it
was locked. He looked through the
window. There was not soul in the
building.
Thinking that the agent had gone
away "between trains" the reporter sat
down on the edge Of the platform and
waited half an hour, expecting every
minute that the agent would come
hurrying out of a small cottage which
stood down the wag on road few rods.
Then the reporter walked down to the
house with the intention of finding out
when the next train departed for the
city. A thin, palefaced woman, carry
ing baby, answered the knock. Hang
ing to the skirt Of her dress were two
other children.
Madam" the reporter said politely,
twill you be kind enough to tell me
where the station agent lives?"
The woman looked at him curiously
for few seconds, and then said slowly,
"He lives here"
els he imp was asked.
"No; he's gone to H to get some
groceries," she answered.
"Who sells tickets when he is away"
"Oh, he'll be back time huff to sell
tickets" she answered.
"Well, perhaps you can tell me what
time the next train goes to New York;"
"Oh, there amt no more train goes to-
night" she answered. ''The next train
goes at s o'clock tomorrow morning."
This was a pretty kettle of fish. 1t
was scarcely shutdown yet and no way of
getting back that night. The reporter
inquired about telegraph Office. 'There
wasn't no telegraph Office nearer than
H"
elbow far is H-?'- /
"Well, guess it's about six miles,"
In answer to an inquiry where the
reporter could get horse the woman
didn't know, because ''Bill had the only
hirin' horse that she knew of in the
neighborhood." The reporter asked
where he could stay that night.
"Well, people round here amt anxious
to take no strangers, cause a stranger
that the Joneses took in short time
ago robbed 'em, but I guess they'd take
you down t. the lunatic asylum"
"To the what~ exclaimed the reporter.
ITO the lunatic asylum" she said
again, at the same time pushing the door
partly closed.
"Aren't there any hotels here?'' asked
the reporter in desperation.
''Nop," she answered shortly, as she
closed the door.
The reporter made his way back to
the asylum, which was about a mile
distant. AS he walked into the yard
grinning face appeared behind the bars
of q grated window and the owner of
the face screeched out:
"You got left, didn't you, you old
foolY'
The reporter shut his teeth and con-
tinued on up the walk, while big bull,
dog, which came around the corner of
the building at that minute, eyed him
suspiciously and followed closely at his
heels until he mounted the steps and
rang the bell He explained the situation
to pretty maid in a white cap, who
answered the ring. She called the
superintendent and the story was re-
peated. He was good natured, and after
laughing heartily at the misfortune of
the reporter gave him something to eat
and a bed. His sleep was restless that
night and he got up with the sun the
next morning and took the first train for
the city.-New York Tribune.