Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1911-09-03

thing that I can't help. that I can't
do anything whatever toward remedy
ing, but that l can at least for the
little self-satisfaction it affords me- be-
| come fumey and adiposely puffy about
Once again: The way these red-cap-
ped station porters at the big terminals
work their little graft in combination
with the Pullman porters.
You climb out of a taXicab, and the
taxicab driver looks you calmly in the
eye and says "A dollar seventy" You
sink down for the roll. detach two papier-
mache simoleons. and nod grandly for
him to keep the change from the two,
the same being 80 cents.
BY this time half a dozen of the red
capped station porters are hocking at
the side of the taXicab. and one OF them,
more quick the trigger than the
others. dips in and grabs your suit case
and Gladstone bag.
Perhaps 1T happens that you are ahead
or time for your train, because you want
to get a shave go to the station res
taurant for bite or something of that
sort You feel that YOU can't reason
ably expect the station porter to hang
around for an hour or so with your gear;
and so you have him take your bags to
the parcel room to be checked. Now. the
right thing for that porter to do would be
to say, politely if possible. or just say it
anyway If politeness were impossible,
that he'd he back at the parcel room at
a certain time and get the bags for you
and see that they were put on board the
train.
But does he? Not by whole houseful
of red caps does he. He stands there
and fiddles with his hands awaiting the
two bits that he not only confidently ex-
poets. but tacitly demands from you, and
nearly always you're weak enough to
disgorge.
Then that station porter disappears for
ever from your bright young life. After
you've got the shave or the eats, or
whatever you've delayed around the sta
ton for you have to dig up another sta
ton porter to get your bags on board
your train. He gets the bags from the
parcel room and does this stunt for you,
and when you meet him at your train
you sink the mitt into the change pocket
and slip him the required two bits
That makes your tips just so cents be-
fore you get on board the train; 30 cents
for the taxicab man and % cents each to
two station porters.
When you get on board the train, you
find the Pullman porter monkeying around
with your bags. and you know there isn't
chance on earth of your getting out of
paying him at least a quarter for his
heroic efforts in keeping your bags from
being taken away from you. If you
change cars at west F'nlladelphla, say,
you have to ease another two bits to the
station porter there to handle your bags,
and when you get to your destination,
which we'll call Atlantic City for luck,
you have to peddle out another quarter
to the Pullman man of the train you
change to and also to the station porter
al the end of your run.
Then. when you get to the end of your
trip. you go and get some inferior cigars
for yourself, out of enforced methods of
economy. because you've been weak
enough to peddle out a whole lot of your
boarded and sorely required loose change
to lot of folks that look upon you as
the puttiest kind of a soft mark for
doing SO.
Why do we do these things. even if we
do have the barren satisfaction of be-
coming sore on ourselves once In
while?
The answer is and everlastingly will be
simply II dunno"
CLARENCE L. CULLEN.