COMMERCIAL TRAVELER
about to launch himself on the unsuspecting country merchant. He has just seen that his cases of samples have been put on board, he travels according to the commercial tariff, the little leather bag contains luxuries for the trip, and he feels perfectly confident and at home. He chats with the conductor, nods to the brakesman, and offers a cigar to the porter of the Pullman. As he stops to adjust his glasses, he rolls his cigar in his mouth and looks up at the murky ceiling with the air of a man who is ready for anything or anybody. These young fellows you see there are students on their way home. By their looks they have spent their last night in Toronto in great shape, and even now they appear somewhat enthusiastic as they pace to and fro arm in arm. Here is a lady bound for the distant burgh of Oshawa. She is loaded down with flower-pots and parcels. She is red in the face, and her nose is sharp. She is industriously trotting up and down after an official. The official is industriously scurrying here and there to keep out of her way. Finally, by a skilful flank movement, she captures him, and with an air of triumph, enquires:
“What time does the 7.45 train go out, sir?”
“At 7.45, ma’am.”
“Will it go out on time?”
“Sharp on time.”
“D’ye think I would have time to go up to Smither’s store before it starts?”
“Depends how far it is,” and the official dashes off on an imaginary errand to escape further questioning, while the lady mentally makes up her mind that she will write to the papers about the discourtesy of these officials. Soon all is bustle and ferment. The old lady is hustled here and there in a sad way. The elbow of a porter knocks a twig from one of her plants, and she immediately sets up an outcry, which is successfully drowned by the rumbling of