The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933, 1912-09-19
THOMSON WRITEOF
INCIDENTS ENROUTE

The mor,otony Of long railroad journ-
les is often broken by amusing incl
dents happening az tne must IL o"en n
pected places aud tlnes. JUG
thomson, who recently leit Ior VISIT
IN Tennessee, writes of tne Lollowihs
happenings on the Canadian racine;
I'VE had Just left kinsgate' neaGlng
across the broad prairie land OF Can
ada. Snow had been falling on the
mountains lust passed and the lew
passengers had hurried of to their
berths, seeking the warmth Of blankets,
or were huddled up on the observation
car, swearing at the railroad company
for not building fires or turning on the
steam.
81 had found an interesting. book
and it was about eleven before | am
bled back TO my car to look for my
berth. Not being able to find my suit
case looked in the smoking eompart-
ment for the porter. lie was there,
as were two other gentlemen OF color;
They had just rigged up table and
deposited on it a big striped water
melon. | didn't say word. just
looked. But my porter became all at
tention. Subj he asked. And then |
laughed. That broke the ice and be-
fore | knew it | had accepted an invi-
tatlon to join in the feast with one
yellow darky and two black ones. One
of the blacks might have put Jack
Johnson out of business, if he had had
pugilistic training. The other was
short, chubby fat negro. A Chlmpan-
zee's face woull have been handsome
BY the side of his. He had an upper
lip that | think those versed in the
science of studying the physiognomy
would have called gizzard lip. that is.
1t resembled in shape fried chickens
glzzard.
Zone of the porters went to the diner
and got me nakpin and plate. They
carved the melon, but they didn't use
plaes. No, they mad eaten watermel-
ons stolen from Georgia patches, when
they had reached that stage of life be-
tween the pickaninny age and the time
at which all negro lads have a call to
become either Pullamn car porter or
Methodist, Cambellite or Hard Shell
Baptist preacher. They cut il in thin
slices the long way and buried their
mouths in the juicy hearts until the
ends of the rinds left little red bits of
the meat on their ears. You've heard
the noise that the water sometimes |
makes when you let it out of the basin |
"a long gurgling, sucking sound?
You've heard Dago eating soup? If
you haven't, it will be hard for you to |
imagine just the three combined noises
these coons made as they completed
that melon, drowning even the click,
click, click, of the ear wheels on the
steel rails.
at wasn't long until they had fin
ished and with rolling white eyeballs
and lips smacking at intervals, longed
for more melon. was sorry that |
had eaten portion. Then with few
sighs of contentment, they began to
talk. The stories they told were more
entertaining even than the horticul-
Lural Chautauqua minstrels. and their
big, deep. gurgling, haw-haw laughs
:an never be initiated by any white
nan. | left them telling ghost stories
1ut | think the scene changed immedi-
itely after my departure, for | am
pretty sure heard in muffied tones,
and amid CALCULATIONS 'Seben come
eben! Seben come leben' Those
coons were shooting craps.
THE next day Scotch lumberman,
from Idaho, and |, almost precipitated
a fight between the English conductor
Of the train and the English dining car
conductor. We had finished our lunch
and had ordered some cigars. The din
ing car man-steward. the Canadians
correctly call them brought them.
He struck match ana my companion
and | lighted up. The conductor of
the train was seated right across the
aisle from US. Pretty soon | felt a
touch on my shoulder. 1t was the
train conductor. Thinking he wanted
my ticket reached for it land had
handed it toward him before he spoke.
He refused the ticket and said: DO
you know where you are?'-I can't
write it like he said it.
We are in Saskatchewan, Think?
| replied, turning to the Scotchman
for confirmation. Again the fellow
asked in just the same tone: DO you
know where you are?' But | didn't
like the way he was looking at me.
" What the Devil do you mean?' !
asked. You are on the dining car, he
began again in that same modulated
perfection. You can't smoke on the
dining car.
" Well, the id dining ear conduc-
tor lighted EN- for US, spoke up the
Scotchman. The train conductor at
once called the steward and there be-
gan quiet, modulated argument,
without any excitement, as to whether
the dining car conductor had any right
to give passengers permission to smoke
in the diner.
Finally the conductor declared that
he was master of the ship. And SO
you are, old chap, agreed the steward.
We left, still smoking our cigars. for
the smoking compartment of our sleep
ing car, leaving the conductor looking
after US and smiling contentedly on