When asked to name six of the United States, he answered, “New Jersey, New York, Boston, West Hoboken, Union Hill, and Hoboken.”
(1493)
One day recently a hard-working woman, the wife of a New York tailor in a small way, went out to market. In her hurry she left the apartment door ajar. Moreover, she forgot to replace, under the mattress, the red-flannel bag in which she and her husband kept their savings of fifteen years—some diamonds, a gold watch, and $1,400 cash.
Only a quarter of an hour later she came back—but the red-flannel savings-bank was gone. At last reports the police detectives had not recovered the money.
The pity of such a loss is more than personal. It is a national calamity. The vague distrust of all banks follows the popular ignorance of the difference in nature between a business man’s bank and a true savings-bank. Ignorance was the root of this small tragedy.—Review of Reviews.
(1494)
Many of us are as foolish as a poor immigrant who was discovered walking on the tracks of the Lehigh Valley Railroad in New Jersey. On his back he carried a huge package containing household utensils, as well as clothes. He seemed tired, tho he trudged sturdily on. He had not, however, acquired the veteran tramp’s skill in walking on the ties, and his journey was evidently telling on his physical powers more than the same distance by the roadway would have done. An agent stopt him and ordered him off the track, telling him that he was liable to arrest for trespass, besides incurring the risk of being killed by a train.
The man, who was a Hungarian, demurred, and produced a railroad ticket, good from Jersey City to Scranton, Pa. The agent looked at him in amazement, and asked why he was walking when he might ride. The Hungarian replied that he thought the ticket gave him only the privilege of walking over the road. His right was explained to him, and the tired man delightedly boarded the first train that stopt. (Text.)—Louis Albert Banks.