“An’ faith, an’ I think it’s the last place you will be goin’ to,” responded Pat.
Of railroads and railroad travel and employees I have heard and told no end of stories; but one of the latest and best, I think, is told of a man in a town “down East,” who had some difficulty with a conductor, and vowed that not another cent of his money should ever go into the treasury of that company.
“But,” said the conductor of the road, “you own property in one place on the line, and do business in another place, and are obliged to go back and forth almost every day: how are you going to help paying something to the company?”
“Oh! hereafter I shall pay my fare to you in the cars,” was the reply.
It may be a joke, but conductors themselves, that is, some of them, are more or less facetious on the subject of what in the vernacular is known as “knocking down.” Soon after the conductors on the New York and New Haven Railroad were put in costume while on duty, and were obliged to wear a badge bearing the initials of the company, my friend Rev. Dr. Chapin was accompanying me over the road to my Bridgeport home, when along came a conductor, whom we both knew well, to collect our fares.
“Ah, I see,” said Dr. Chapin, pointing to the letters on the new badge, “N. H., N. Y.,—‘Neither Here, Nor Yonder.”
“No,” whispered the conductor confidentially in the Doctor’s ear; “it means, ‘New House, Next Year.’ ”
It is scarcely necessary to tell the thousands who know Dr. Chapin that he is a man of most ready wit, and an inveterate punster. One day, when we were dining together, I was carving a chicken, which the Doctor pronounced a “hen-ous offence,” when, having some difficulty with a tough wing, I exclaimed:
“How shall I get the thing off, anyhow?”
“Pullet,” gravely answered the Doctor.