To Panama and back

by Henry T. Byford

“Yes, and every one of ’em is tanning his stomach with tea and coffee. Serves ’em right. Let ’em tan it, damn it! By the way, conductor, did you see the fun a few minutes ago?”

“No, what was it?”

“I hugged a young lady, and she didn’t object. Yes, sir, I did it. As I was passing her in the aisle she stumbled against me and I had to hug her to keep from being knocked down. She begged my pardon and I excused her, thinking that honors were even, ha, ha!”

“We’ll be looking for an elopement, next,” suggested the conductor.

“No,” he said, “my tongue is the only thing that would run away with me now.”

After thus dwelling a while in a facetious manner on the details of the romantic adventure, and repeating himself many times, he suddenly remembered what he was there for and began to talk tearfully about his wife, and pulled out his bottle and went into the smoking-room for water. The old man was as young in his feelings as the day he was born—he had a saving sense of humor. Those who are not gifted with a sense of humor are born old; those with it die young. Notwithstanding his troubles, the old man was dying young.

We arrived at Montgomery at 5 P. M. and had to change cars in order to catch the train that had left New Orleans in the morning, twelve hours after we had. By this time the old gentleman was dull and heavy and did not wish to get off. He had paid for his berth expecting the car to go on to Chicago, and insisted on keeping it. He said that he had fulfilled his part of the contract. They put him off, however, and I left the poor old fellow in the station while I went out for a stroll through the main thoroughfare of the picturesque little capital of Alabama in the heart of the South. It is a busy-looking place of about 30,000 inhabitants, with crowded streets and attractive-looking stores that seemed to be doing plenty of business. Following the main thoroughfare, I soon came within sight of the state-house, which showed off to great advantage on the hill at the head of the street. Beside it I found the Confederate Soldiers’ Monument, which was a credit to the state from a confederate point of view. It even created strong feelings of admiration and sympathy in me, a lifelong republican and sinner.

When I returned to the train at half past six the old Hyde Parker, who was forced to keep a private saloon in his own house, came aboard with a full stock of wet goods in his system and a fresh stock in his pocket. He sat in the smoking-room trying in vain to crack jokes and smoke a cigar. His ideas were muddled and he had lost the knack of managing a lighted cigar. He did not put the wrong end in his mouth nor miss his mouth, but he repeatedly dropped it, let it go out twice, chewed the end off, burned his fingers and finally threw it at the cuspidor, missing his aim and scattering the ashes on our feet.

Two young men, who seemed to be commercial travelers, took a kind-hearted interest in him and offered to help him to bed. But the septuagenarian did not know the number of his berth and could not find his ticket. He had left it in his overcoat and did not know where his overcoat was. One of the young men went to the porter, found the overcoat and number, and had the berth made up. He himself had undoubtedly helped and been helped to bed on sundry occasions in the past and was willing and qualified for the deed of sympathy. When he returned the old man was offering to fight three of us. I knew that it was one of the Hyde Parker’s tipsy jokes, but the others, not knowing him as well as I did, took him seriously and insisted upon putting him to bed. They were preparing to use kindly force if necessary. He then started to unlace his shoes in the smoking-room and, upon being told by the astonished young men not to take them off there, he said that he wanted to put his shoes to bed first, and asked how they could get to bed unless he put them there. Realizing that they took him in earnest, he went on in that way for a while before he allowed them to lead him off. He was not too far gone to have a little sport with them.

The next morning when I entered the dressing-room his empty whiskey bottle lay on the washstand under the ice-water faucet, indicating that he had been to the water already, and he sat near the window eating sponge cakes out of a paper bag. He was sober and thoughtful and did not seem to be enjoying his breakfast. I had a few limes left from the stock laid in at Bocas del Toro and was sucking one.