“That’s just a cent a mile. Well, now, I ain’t going but a mile—little short if anything. Thet’ll be just a cent. Here’s the copper.”
So speaking, the countryman drew out a dingy copper cent which had evidently been stored away for some years. He tried to pass it over, but the conductor shook his head, while several began to laugh.
“What’s the matter, mister?” asked the individual from down east.
“Can’t take that, Mr. Smith. Our charge is five cents without regard to distance.”
“Gee shoo! Say, my name ain’t Smith. It’s Perkins—Joel Perkins.”
“All right, Mr. Perkins. We charge five cents no matter how far you go.”
“And do you count that fair?” demanded Joel Perkins. “I’d like to argy the p’int a little with you. Just supposin’ you was a trader an’ kept flour to sell, and I and another man came to buy flour. Now, if I took one barrel and tudder man took five would you think it fair to charge me jest as much as the other man; come now, answer me fair and square?”
“I can’t stop to argue,” answered the conductor, who was in a hurry to collect other fares. “Just you pay your five cents, or I’ll call the police.”
“Gee shoo! I don’t want no police, nohow!” cried Joel Perkins, in alarm.
“Then pay up, and do it right away.”