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.
"Say, young man," asked an old lady at the ticket-office, "what time does the next train pull in here and how long does it stay?"
"From two to two to two-two," was the curt reply.
"Well, I declare! Be you the whistle?
A railroad was opened through a remote region, and on the first run over the line, the engineer overtook a country boy riding his horse along the road bed. The engineer whistled, and the boy whipped. The train was forced to a crawl with the cowcatcher fairly nipping at the horse's heels. Finally, the engineer leaned from the cab window and shouted:
"You dum fool, why dont ye git offen the track?"
The fleeting boy screamed an answer:
"No, sirree! Ye'd ketch me in a jiffy on thet-thar ploughed ground."