Charlevoix county herald., 1912-06-22


map with cargoes OF Lilliputian mil
lionaires and their Lilliputian ladies
Others were humble and shabby
linked-up day-coaches and dingJ
smokingcar packed with workers
like ants.
Cars are mere vehicles, but iocomo
tives have souls. The express en-
gines roll In or stalk out with gran
deur and ease. They are like EN-
perors. They seem to look with scorr
at the suburban engines snorting and
grunt,ng and shaking the arched
roof with their piebeian choo-choo al
they pun from shop to cottage and
back
The trainmen take their cue from
the behavior of theii locomotives. The
conductor OF transcontinental mods
to the conductor OF shuttle-train
with less cordiality than to a brake
man OF his own. = The engineers oi
the limiteds look like senators IN
overalls. They are far-traveled men
leading a mighty life OF adventure
They are pilots OF land-ships across
land-oceans. They have a right to Q
certain condescension OF manner.
But no one feels or shows so much
arrogance as the sleeping car porters
They cannot pronounce "supercili
GUS" but they can be IL. Their dis
dain for the entire crew OF any train
that carries merely day coaches oil
half-baked chair-cars, is expressed al
only a darkey I'm uniform can ex
press disdain for poor white trash.
OF all the naughty porters that ever
curled a lip, the haughtiest by fai
was the dusky attendant In the San
Francisco sleeper on the Trans-Amer
ican Limited. His was the train OF
the car of cars. His passengers the
surpassengers OF all.
His train stood now waiting to set
forth upon a voyage OF two thousand
miles. journey across seven imperial
states, journey that should. end only
at that marge where the continent
dips and vanishes under the breakers
Of the Pacific ocean.
At the head OF his car, with his lit
tie boxstep waiting for the foot OF
the first arrival, the porter stood. his
head swelling under his cap, his
breast swelling beneath his blue
blouse. with its brass buttons like
reflections OF his own eyes. His name
was Ellsworth Jefferson. but he was
called anything from 'Poarr-turr" to
"Pawtah." and he usually did not
come when he was called.
Tonight he was wondering perhaps
what passengers, with what disposi-
tions, would fall to his lot. Perhaps
he was wondering what his Chicago
eight days before his return. Per
haps he was wondering what his San
Francisco sweetheart had been doing
In the five days since he left her, and
how she would pass the three days
that must intervene before he
reached her again.
He had Othello's ebon color. Did
he have Othello's green eye?
Whatever his thoughts. he chatted
gaily enough with his neighbor and
colleague of the Portland sleeper.
Suddenly he stopped In the midst
of soaring chuckle.
"Lordy. man, looky what's aeon
i'm"
The Portland porter turned to gaze.
81 got my fingers crossed"
II hope you git him"
IL hope l don't"
He'll work you hard and cuss you
out, and he won't give you even a
Much Obliged"
That's right. He amt got usher
to carry his things. And he's got
enough to fill van
The oncomer was plainly OF Eng.
lish origin. IL takes all sorts OF peo-
pie to make up the British Empire,
and there is no sort lacking-glorious
or pretty, or sour or sweet. But this
was the type of English globe-trotter
that makes himself as unpopular
among foreigners as he Is among his
own people. He Is almost as unen-
durable as the Americans abroad who
twang their banjo brag through Eu.
rope. and berate France and Italy for
their innocence OF buckwheat cakes.
The two porters regarded Mr.. Har.
old Wedgewood with dread. as he
bore down on them. He was almost
lost in the plethora OF his own lug.
gage. He asked for the San Fran.
cisco sleeper. and the Portland porter
had to turn away to smother his CUR.
Cling relief.
Ellsworth Jeffersons heart sank,
He made a feeble effort at self-pro.
lection. The Pullman conductor not
being present at the moment. he In
quired:
Have you got yo' ticket?'
"Of cawse."
Gould I see it?"
"Of cawse not Too much trouble
TO fish 1t out"
The porter was fading. DO you
remember yo' numba?"
"Of cawse. Take these" He began
to pile things on the porter like a
mountain unloading an avalanche.
The porter stumbled as he clambered
ND the steps, and squeezed through
the strait path of the corridor into
the slender aisle. He turned again