The Birmingham age-herald., 1906-09-13
From the New York Sun.

AN HEN the sun set over the moun- NV tain range of trunks at the
 w Grand Central Station last evening General Baggagemaster McCully drew long breath of relief. mopped his amlable, red face and ceased to swear. A small army of baggage smashers and trunk busters, weared to the bone from trying to roll two good days work into one and from trying to soothe cranky old women and fussy old men. gave a thankful grunt and turned over their troubles to the night shift.
 On few days only this summer has the glut of undigested baggage at the Grand Central been worse than it was people Is about over. Three-fourths of the New Workers who have been sum mering at New England coast and moun- tain resorts are home with their baked arms and faces. but their baggage couldn't and didn't keep pace. Try as they would, the railroad baggagemen of the New York Central and the New York, New Haven and Hartford and the gruntlng, cussing transfer company employees simply couldn't reduce the mountains of baggage that piled up in the two great sheds, one in the basement of the old Grand Central Palace, which the other which runs parallel with the train shed from Forty-second street to Forty-sixth street. used by the New York Central.
 Did you ever see a depot with a pain in its belly?' said the tired general bag gage matser. Well, here Is a fine speci- men. The baggage room Is the stomach of railroad station, just as the dis patchers' office is it's brains. This place has had the worst case of indigestion for the last week or two you ever heard of. However, we doctors are doing all We can, working night and day. and, as can be expected"
 Almost from the Forty-second street entrance of the baggage room trunks were stacked up in crags and towering cliffs They were hills and hummocks of them scattered around on the espla- made, merely the foothills of the range which began in the long train shed. Splitting the range was a deep canyon endeavoring to locate their belongings. The tall stacks of bags and trunks weere almost as awe-inspring as the long, deep tunnel excavation which the trunk hunters rubbered at on their way to argue with the patient baggagemen.
 Troubled humanity poured through that ravine in the Centrars train shed all day long. peering, lingering, pleading. implorng, arguing, threatening; the women dissovlng frequently into tears. the men breaking at last into humid pre- fanity
 McCully. moving twenty baggage smashers as a man would manipulate the keys of a typewriter. stopped when fearful girl with molasses candy hair and a black and white polka dot princess dress laid inslstent fingers on his sleeve. She was of the chorus. and rehearsals, she informed the sympathetic but terribly busy McCully, started this morning in Lyric Hall. There were things in that trunk-but what does mere man know about such things?
 Are you the boss here?' said Polka Dot.
 For my sins I am," said McCully, po- litely and wearily.
 Well" said the girl sharply T just have got to have my trunk. It's the strical trunk-a Tailer-with the initials J S. w. on it and big Hotel painted In white enamel on the very top. and the U. s. w stands for Jessie Stevens Wimple. You know who we are-the Wimple sisters, real headliners on the Orpheum circuit. Honest to Gawd mis- ter, I haven't had a clean shirt waist