Harper's Young People, October 24, 1882 / An Illustrated Weekly

WAIT A FEW MINUTES, PUSSY.

One raw, disagreeable night last spring I was set down by a local train at a little junction on a Western railroad to wait for the eastward-bound express. The dépôt house was a little place lighted by an oil lamp which gave out a choking smell, and heated by a big stove that devoured every breath of fresh air that found its way into the close room.
Turning away from it, I began pacing the platform in order to keep warm, and had passed an engine that was taking a rest on a side track, but panting heavily all the time, when, as I came back, I thought I saw a queer little face at the window of the cab. I stopped, and the queer little face again showed itself. It was, without doubt, a monkey. As I stopped and made signs to him he began to chatter and to rap on the glass with his fingers, and the next moment the engineer's face appeared above his.
You have a strange passenger there, said I.
Well, yes, p'r'aps so, replied the engineer, and he picked up a lighted lantern and threw the light upon my face. Yes, it may seem queer to strangers, he went on, but it's natural to me now. We've travelled many a hundred miles together. Eh, Carbo? addressing his companion.
I think there must be a story connected with that monkey, I said. Would you mind telling it to me if there is?
Are you waiting for the express?
Yes.
Well, then, come up into the cab. It's warm in here. Carbo, you selfish rascal, give up that seat to the stranger. There, there, I know you're fond of me, he added, but you needn't keep on kissing me.
Well, sir, it's wonderful the intelligence of these monkeys. When I first knew Carbo he was in the coal business, and that's why I call him Carbo. Yes, you may laugh, but it's a fact. He had a coal-yard right at the dépôt at K——, a little junction where every train but two expresses a day has to stop. He wasn't the proprietor of that yard. He was a salaried employé, like what merchants call a 'buyer.' He bought the coal, and the chap that owned the yard sold it again at a big profit—at least I guess he must have sold some of it.