COULD KEEP THE $100 BILL
till we went up town and changed it. I forks it out convenient like, and tuk the $100 bill, and the three of um went off to see about the freight, an’ I haven’t seen a sight on ’em since.”
“And the $100 bill?”
“Ain’t worth shucks! and they ain’t old man Turkman’s nevies no more nor you be. Ef I had the consarned cheats here now I cud lick a ten-acre field full on ’em. Bin a huntin’ all over town fur ’em, but ’taint no use. Dang the town ennyway.”
Here comes a lady with her dear little boy—one of those dear little boys who makes the ordinary traveler just ache to spank him.
“Maw!” he says, “where you goin’ to?”
“I want to see the conductor, dear.”
“Maw! wot’s a conductor?”
“He has charge of the train, dear.”
“Maw! wot does he do that for?”
“For a salary, dear.”
“Maw! wot’s a salary?”
“Oh, dear, don’t bother me.”
“Maw, w’y won’t you let your little boy bother you?”
“Hush, I want to speak to the conductor.”
“Maw, wot you goin’ to speak to the conductor for?”
“I want to know if the train stops at Guelph.”
“Maw, is that where my gran’paw lives?”
“No, he lives in Goderich.”
“Maw, wot does he live there for?” and so on endlessly.
The crowd thickens, the gong strikes, the cheering “all-aboard” of the conductor is heard, and in a few minutes the night express is darting like a meteor through the darkened land.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE EMIGRANT TRAIN.
It seems that when the rain is falling, when the air is chill, when the darkness is deepest and when the great station looks most gloomy and dreary, the emigrant train arrives. As the train draws in and slowly passes me to its allotted space the faces that I see through the dirty windows are tired and worn and the eyes are hollow and sad. I went through an emigrant train one night and I will never forget the experience. The emigrants were chiefly Irish, English and Swedes. Some of them stayed here in Toronto but the majority were bound for points farther west. As I opened the door of the first car a blast of hot, foul air smote me in the face and almost turned me sick, and yet the people whom I saw before me seemed to mind it but little. They were used to it and it was a great improvement on the poisonous atmosphere of the steerage. The car was closely packed, every seat had more than its quota. It was impossible to see to the far end of the car on account of a steam which fermented the place and made the faces of people in the middle of the car look obscure and distorted. The emigrants were in every attitude and conceivable posture; some were lying prone on the floor, others were huddled in the seats, while others, with arms entwined, were resting their heads on each others’ shoulders. One whole family, man and wife and six children, were squeezed into two seats in the most amazing manner. The parents formed a sort of under strata on which the little children were piled promiscuously. They were all asleep,