To Betsy Gaskins.
Dear Wife:—They let me out last Monday. I felt very strange when they opened them big doors and told me to go. When I got out onto the street I felt jist like a feller does when he is lost in a big woods. I dident know which way to start. But I wanted to git back to you. I saw a depot marked “Woodland Station,” and I went over there—went in and sot down. Pretty soon a passenger train come in headed south. Everybody got up to take it, and, I dont know why, but I went with the crowd and into the car. When the train got started, I thought of havin no ticket or money.
The conductor dident get around to me until we had passed Newburg.
I was lookin out at the big buildin where they keep crazy people, when he teched me on the shoulder and says, “Ticket.”
I told him I had no ticket nor money; that I was a old man; had been out tryin to find work and couldent; that my wife was sick and I was wantin to git back.
He said: “You cant ride on this train. Youle have to git off.”
I asked him if he couldent let me ride; that I would pay him some time if I ever got the money.
“No,” says he, “my instructions are to carry no one without a ticket or the money.”
I told him the people what owned the railroad was rich and wouldent care if he let a old man ride to Bayard.
“No,” says he, “you must git off at Bedford. Ime not permitted to carry you.”