“‘Fer Heaven’s sake, Tom,’ says the brakeman, ‘what’s the matter?’
“‘Oh, I was nearly kilt!’ groans Tom, hoarse as a frog.
“‘Kilt!’ says the brakeman. ‘Where? Shall I holler fer a doctor? Mebbe they’s one on board.’
“‘No,’ says Tom. ‘I ain’t hurted.’
“The brakeman thought he’d gone crazy.
“‘What you talkin’ about, anyhow?’ he says.
“‘No,’ goes on Tom, ‘but it’s God’s providence I wasn’t chewed into mincemeat.’
“‘When?’ says the brakeman.
“‘Last night,’ says Tom, ‘by thet yard ingine at Wadsworth. It’s jest come to me what a narrer escape I had.’
“Well, the brakeman told me, Tom was about the sickest man he ever seen fer an hour or more, an’ then he peckered up a little, an’ finally was all right ag’in.”