The Worcester spy. [volume] (Worcester, Mass.) 1898-1904, 1899-11-27
BRET HARTEs STORIES.
Passenger Who Wanted to Sleep Lost
an Opportunity.

my determination to make myself
comfortable under ell circumstances
has been a matter of regret oftener
than l can tell you," is the way in
which an easy-going southerner began,
in an uptown club, what turned into an
interesting story. 81 have always, or
nearly always, insisted on having my
sleep when l felt so inclined. A good
many years ago I was in the far west,
where stage coaches were considered a
luxury. I took my place in one from
the door of a miners tavern in a noun
tain town, the name of which / long
ago forgot. 1t was dark when the driv-
er started the horses. I was the sole
occupant of the old rattletrap and,
drawing my buffalo robe about me, I
turned in for a sleep Somewhere,
never knew where, L awoke to find the
stage at a standstill. The driver and
some one afoot were engaged in con-
versation. l could hear only the sound
of the voice of the man in the road, but
1 distinctly heard the driver say that 1t
was darned strange-perhaps the Ian
guage was stronger-that a man should
want to get into a stage at such a
place. Then he said to the applicant:
We'll, crawl in Their, and don't git
gay with that other passenger If l
hear anything out of you I'll put you
down in a coyote camp and you won't
know you was ever Twin
'The stranger got in and was my Wis
avis. l concluded to return to my
sleep. The stranger concluded he would
like to be companionable. He began by
saying he didn't blame the driver
Picking up a passenger in the dead of
night in such a bowling wilderness was
not safe. I said No and shut up. The
stranger said it was a country full of
adventures and that he had witnessed
a lot of them. I made no reply, but he
proceeded. The last 1 heard him say at
that time was something about a
mountain storm in which he had an ex-
perience he would never forget. / de-
termined not to hear it, and 1 didn't I
went to sleep. I don't know how long
l slept. When I awoke the driver was
at one of the doors of the coach. What
the conversation was about, or why the
driver concluded to get off his box and
look in, never knew. / heard him
growl at the stranger:
-" You shut up,and keep quiet or you
get out. You was the last in, and
'tother passenger was fust in, and eff
he don't want to CAB. you hush up
From the strangers reply, at once
concluded that he was a gentleman
and THAI he had done nothing to excite
his driver. However, / had to finish nv
sleep and rolled over to begin again.
The stranger laughed good naturally
and began another story. I was deter
mined l would not listen, and | didn't.
l went to sleep. Along about daylight
the stage stopped before another noun
tain tavern. The snow was blowing in
every direction A blizzard was on
The stranger left me at that place. He
wished me a very pleasant journey and
said in sort of CHEEKY way that he
hoped that driver would be more agree
able at the same time he said that
drivers were not to be feared, that as
class they were the soul of honor.
rhen he handed me his card. 1t seemed
odd in that God-forsaken country, in
a stage coach, too, for a stranger to
be so courteous. People seldom do that
in q railroad train. / showed the card
in my pocket. l was still drowsy. [
fear l may have appeared gruff.
slept until l reached my destination.
Later in the day l unloaded my pocket
and the card turned up. Then I knew
had, in my determination to be COM
Portable, lost the opportunity of hear
ing some good stories from a man who
became one of the foremost writers of
his time. The name on the card was
Bret Harte. New York Sun,