The Progressive West Virginian. [volume] (Williamson, W. Va.) 1911-1913, 1912-07-18

L
amused himself: now whiskfng this
| one away. now hacking that other In
Some Of the trains were noble equip
ages. fitted TO glide across the whole
map with cargoes OF Ltlliputian mil
iionaires and their Liiliputian ladies.
Others were humble and shabby
linked-up day-coaches and dingy
smoking-cars. 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 loofs with scorn
at the suburban engines Bnorting and
grunting and shaking the arcned
roof with their plebeian choo-choo ~
they PUT from shop to cottage ana
back.
The trainmen take their cue from
the behavior OF theil locomotives. The
conductor OF transcontinentaI mods
70 the conductor OF shuttie-train
with less cordiality than to brake
man Of his own! The engineers OF
the limfteds look like senators IN
oyeralls. 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" bat they can be It. Their dis
dain for eAs entire crew OF any train
that carries merely day-coaches or
haif-baked chair-cars. is expressed az
only darkey In uniform can ex-
press disdain for poor white trash
Of.all the naughty porters that ever
curled a. lip, the haughtiest by far
was the dusky attendant tn the San
Francisco sleeper on the Trans-Amer-
trains in that whole system. His car
the car OF cars. His passengers the
surpassengers OF all.
His train stood now waiting to set
forth upon voyage of two thousand
miles. a journey across seven imperial
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 box-step waiting for the foot Of
Sthe 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-
lions, would fall to his lot. Perhaps
he was wondering what hih Chicago
sweetheart would be doinf In the
eight days before his return. Per-
haps he was wondering what his San
Francisco sweetheart had been doing
in the i've days since he left her. and
how she would pass the three days
that must intervene before he
reached her again.
He had Otheilo'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 acorn
in'!"
The Portland porter turned to gaze.
Il got my fingers crossed"
4 hope you git him."
Il hope / don't"
He'll work you hard and cuss you
out. and he won't give yea even q
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. 1t 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 giobe-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 Jefferson.s heart sank.
He made feeble effort at self-pro-
lection. The Pullman conductor not
being present at the moment. he In
quired:
.Have you got 20 ticketY"
'Of cawse."
Gould / see TT"
.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 Q
mountain unloading an avalanche.
The porter stumbled as he clambere6
up the steps, and squeezed through
the strait path OF the corridor INTO
the slender aisle. He turned again
and again to question the invade,
but he was motioned and hunted
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