"Man," said the other, "we dun carry moah'n a million passengers last month."
"Foah de Lord's sake!" ejaculated the first negro. "You-all carried moah'n a million passengers? Go on with you, nigger; we dun kill moah passengers than you carry."
It was on a little branch railway in a southern state that the New England woman ventured to refer to the high rates.
"It seems to me five cents a mile is extortion," she said, with frankness, to her southern cousin.
"It's a big lot of money to pay if you think of it by the mile," said the southerner, in her soft drawl; "but you just think how cheap it is by the hour, Cousin Annie—only about thirty-five cents."—Youth's Companion.
RAPID TRANSIT
One cold, wintry morning a man of tall and angular build was walking down a steep hill at a quick pace. A treacherous piece of ice under the snow caused him to lose control of his feet; he began to slide and was unable to stop.
At a cross-street half-way down the decline he encountered a large, heavy woman, with her arms full of bundles. The meeting was sudden, and before either realized it a collision ensued and both were sliding down hill, a grand ensemble—the thin man underneath, the fat woman and bundles on top. When the bottom was reached and the woman was trying in vain to recover her breath and her feet, these faint words were borne to her ear: