1.54. HE HAD THE LITTLE VOUCHER IN HIS POCKET.
L— lived in this city several years ago. He dealt in horses, carriages, &c. Hearing of a good chance to sell buggies up West, he embarked with a lot for that "great" country. At Toledo he took a Michigan Southern train. Somebody had by way of a joke, warned him against the conductor of that particular train, telling him that said conductor had an eccentric way of taking up tickets at the beginning of the journey, and of denying that he had done so and demanding fare at the end thereof. This the confiding L— swallowed. He determined not to be swindled in this way, and so when the conductor came around and asked him for his ticket he declined giving up. The conductor insisted. L— still refused.
"I've got the little voucher in my pocket," he said, with a knowing look, slily slapping the pocket which contained the ticket.
The conductor glanced at L—'s stalwart frame. He had heard L— spoken of as a fighting man. He preferred not to grapple with him. The train was a light one, and it so happened that L— was the only man in this, the hind car. So the conductor had the train stopped, and quietly unhitched this car.
"Good day, Mr. L," he yelled; "just keep that little voucher in your pocket, and be d—d to you!"
L— jumped up and saw the other cars moving rapidly away. He was left solitary and alone, in a dismal piece of woods known as the Black Swamp. He remained there in the car until night, when the down-train came along and took him to Toledo. He had to pay fare, his up through-ticket not being good on that train. His buggies had gone unattended to Chicago. He was very angry. He finally got through, but he will never hear the last of that "little voucher."