Scarcely is the train in motion when he commences operations. He begins by taking a bundle of newspapers, with which he goes his first round, banging the doors after him. This done, he returns to his store, puts by the papers he has not sold, takes a basket, fills it with apples, oranges, and bananas, and starts again. Second banging of the doors at either end of your car. He shouts "Apples, oranges, bananas!" as he goes. You shake your head to let him know that you do not wish any of his fruit, and he passes. Then he returns to his shop. You think you would like a nap, and will proceed to have one. You are reckoning without your host. He presently reappears with jujubes and cough lozenges; then with travelling-caps; then with cigars and cigarettes. After that, it is photographs. He plagues you to examine his albums, the quality of which he vaunts with a zeal worthy of a better cause. You send him about his business, but not for long. He soon comes round again, bearing an armful of monthly magazines; and after that, with a pile of novels. Whether you have your eyes closed or not, he lays one or two on your lap, and rouses you to know if really you are not going to buy anything of him. Your blood rises, you feel at last as if it would be a relief to fling his merchandise at his head, or rather out of the window, with him after it. But, "patience!" you say to yourself. "After all, he must soon exhaust his stock-in-trade, and then I shall have peace." Vain illusion! Five minutes later he begins his rounds again with the apple and banana basket. This is too much, and you inwardly send him to destruction, with his apples, jujubes, travelling-caps, newspapers, books, and all his—stock-in-trade.
The Americans have the patience of angels. I have seen them, for five or six hours, refuse with the politest sign of the head the different articles of these ambulant bazaars. They seem to say: "That creature is very annoying, a terrible nuisance; but I suppose we must all get a living somehow."
Returning to Jacksonville from St. Augustine, I omitted to engage my place in the parlour-car, and was obliged to find a seat in the ordinary cars. The evil was not great, seeing that the journey takes but fifty minutes.
Besides the parlour-car, the train comprised three cars, two of which were already almost full. I installed myself in the third, which was empty.
Up comes the conductor.
"Come out; you can't travel in that car," he said.
"Why, pray?" I asked.
"Because it is the coloured people's car."
"And am I not as good as they?"