"Only once't that I remember," said the conductor, with a grin.
"When and how?"
"There was thirteen babies in this here car yellin' in thirteen different keys all at the same time," replied the conductor.
Some people are so superstitious, you know, always carrying home old horseshoes and nailing them up over the door—why, a pagan nation like the Japanese have the same custom with other embellishments.
The fun of it is, while some stoutly maintain the horseshoe must be nailed with the forks pointing upward, there are others just as set in their belief that if a chap wants real good luck to swoop down upon his domicile it is absolutely imperative that the opening must be left below.
Why Ketcham actually grew hot under the collar the other day because I sneered when he chanced to mention what horrible bad fortune had come to him since his propitiation to the gods was stolen from his barn door by a wandering dago junk-man.
"Don't you believe then that there's good luck in finding a horseshoe?" he demanded, fiercely.
"Why, yes, under certain conditions," I replied; "for instance when you find it on the winning horse."