BUT LET ME BEGIN WITH MY TRIP.
George Ely, of Montgomery, the Traveling Passenger Agent of the Southern Pacific, is one of the cleverest railroad men in all the South. I have been telling him of this trip for years: "All right, when you get ready, let me know, and I will load you up," said he, after every talk. Sure enough he did. "Through Story Land to Sunset Skies," is the striking name of a book he gave me. A couple of old travelers who are supposed to have passed this way years ago before there was any thought of a railroad, takes a girl and her papa into their party and start for San Francisco on the Limited. First one and then the other talks. In those far-off days, they must have camped for months at every point, for they know the history of every section and places of interest.
Their "Limited" seems to have been an unlimited, as to time, for the narrative takes you leisurely from point to point. It is invaluable to the party who takes the trip and I am the only one who seems to possess one in the car.
"Where are we?" "Wonder what there is here?" "I declare it is the driest dullest trip I ever took." These are some of the expressions I have heard. I haven't time to tell them about things. I wish I had, for it is such a pity for people to take the long trip and get so little out of it. One old sister, I fear, will worry herself sick.
The great