Down the line with John Henry

by George V. Hobart

I looked at Clara Jane's face, but there was no light in the window for me.

"You certainly picked out a warm proposition when you put your arms around Lizzie B. and I'm your friend for life for hauling me up in the chariot with you—what'll you have?" croaked Tom.

"Thirty-two bars rest," I whispered hoarsely; "cut it all out!"

"Cut out nothing!" said the prize idiot; "We'll drink to Lizzie B. What'll your lady friend have?"

When Clara Jane arose she was a mass of icicles.

"Mr. John Henry! will you have the kindness to escort me to a car?" she said, giving me the glittering gig-lamps, "then you may return and discuss your affairs of the heart at your leisure."

"Stung!" said Bud, bringing his hand down on the table so vigorously that Ikey woke up and ordered another high-ball.

Me—to the Badlands! It took me three mortal hours to convince her that Tom was only talking about a horse.

Hereafter when Clara Jane yearns for something swift I'll take her down and let her watch the trolley cars go by.