What part of the train do you consider most dangerous?
T.C.—Dining car, answered the dyspeptic.
T.T.—What became of the other clerk who was here?
T.C.—In the asylum—one day a woman got a ticket without asking questions.
T.T.—Mercy Mister, this is terryble, give me a ticket to Moffat’s Corners.
T.C.—Can’t give you one, but I will sell it.
T.T.—Why is my train arriving so late?
T.C.—It’s just like this: the train ahead is behind, and this train was behind before besides.
T.T.—Ma’ conscience!
When they found the old gentleman towards sundown, he had wandered to the yard limits and was seated in a free reclining chair car waiting for a hair cut. On hearing the doctor’s diagnosis: “Reason undermined,” he was assisted to an ambulance, as a hoot owl settled on the bridge at midnight, and a yellow fog enveloped the sleeping city.