Human nature is the same the world over, and the train is the best place to get the cream of it.

The other day, while on my way from Kansas City to St. Louis, in a day coach, I lost my seat to two ladies, who, disregarding my suit case and coat, had taken possession while I was in the rear getting a drink of water. This I did not mind, as there were plenty of seats vacant. Soon after the newcomers had arrived they began to buy and eat fruit, using a time-table which I had secured and marked for my convenience, as a receptacle for the peelings and seed. This annoyed me just a little, for I could not get a fresh one until I reached the end of my journey, but I said nothing.

An hour later, after I had taken a short nap and lost the run of the stations, I desired to consult my schedule. Looking over the way, I found that the younger woman had disappeared, leaving her companion, an old lady dressed in heavy black, wearing on her head an antiquated split bonnet. Thinking of nothing but my time-table, I got up and went to where the aged traveler sat and, without much ado, reached down and picked it up. My intention was to steal away unobserved, so that the woman would not feel called upon to offer an apology for taking my seat, but I was foiled. As I lifted the book a cold, bony, clammy hand shot from beneath a black sleeve and fastened my wrist with a vice-like grip. The turn was so sudden and so unexpected that I lost my equilibrium.

“My time-table, good lady, is all that I want,” said I, as meekly as possible.

“It’s mine,” was the sharp reply, the hand closing on my wrist.

“I beg your pardon, madam, but I have carried that folder for two days.”

“You hain’t no sich thing, fur I got it this mornin’.”

“I do not like to dispute your word, madam, but I left this book on this seat and it was here when you came this morning.”

“You’re just a tellin’ what ain’t so, an’ I don’t lak to be meddled wid by no man wid yaller shoes.”

“O, I see it is my shoes you do not like!”

“No, I don’t lak you ner none lak you. What you got on that long thing fur?”

I wore a long automobile coat, or duster, to protect my clothes, and the old lady did not like that. Seeing what a tempest I had stirred, I decided to fight it out just for fun.

“Madam, you wouldn’t mind my taking my suit case out of here so that you could have more room for your feet?”

“No. It hain’t got no bizness in here nohow.”

“Why, my dear, I know it hasn’t,” said I.

“I ain’t none of your dear, an’ don’t you call me that nuther.”

“Pardon me, sister, but I meant to be pleasant to you.”

“I wouldn’t choose any of your pleasantness. It’s just lak you drummer chaps. I’ve heard of your doin’s before.”

She thought I was a knight of the grip, and feared that I would flirt with her. That was interesting.

“My coat—that’s it hanging there above your head, where I put it before you took my seat.”

“’Tain’t your seat! How come it your seat?”

“I am not claiming it, mother, but just explaining how my coat got there—that’s all. No, it is your seat by the right of possession, and I should not ask you to move if I had to hang on the bell cord.”

“You make out lak you’re powerful perlite, but the way you drummers do nobudy—not even an ole woman lak me—kin tell what you’re up to.”

“I beg your pardon, madam, but I am not a drummer. I live one thousand miles from here, and am on my way home from the Democratic convention, at Denver, to see my wife and little girl. I have tried to behave myself and it grieves me to think that I offended you, but I am sure you will not say that I did it intentionally. I entered this train early this morning, at Kansas City, and picked this seat, where the sun would not shine on me, and occupied it. Later, you and your friend came in and captured it while I drank at the water cooler, and I had originally selected one that your good taste made you prefer to the many empty ones that were here when you came. That is the whole story. I wanted to see my time-table, and came for it. You took hold of my arm—something I never permit any woman but my wife to do—”

“You know that ain’t so,” declared the disputant hotly. “I never held your arm.”

“Look now, my dear, and see if you have not my wrist.”

That was the blow that killed mother, for she still held my wrist, although I had dropped the folder. Here a bit of color mounted the pale, wrinkled cheeks.

“I love to see a pretty woman blush,” said I, smiling from ear to ear.

“You shet your mouth. I ain’t blushin’! I wish my brother was here. I’d make him crack your head.”

“Your brother—where is your husband or your son?”

“I ain’t got none, as I have never been married.”

“O, I see; you are still enjoying single bliss—a charming old maid?”

“It’s none of your bizness what I am. You’ve got nuthin’ to do with me.”

Passengers several seats back and front were listening to the controversy, which had been fast and sharp, and enjoying it.

“Well, good soul, I will leave you if you will give me my time-table.”

“It’s none of yourn, but take it an’ go.”

“Not until you are convinced that it is mine.”

“It’s mine, but you kin have it.”

“Just one word? Did you write your name on your book?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well, if you will look inside there you will find my name. If you do not I shall apologize and give you a basket of candy.”

“I don’t want your candy.”

“I know you don’t, but you will look for my name?”

As she opened the book and revealed the name, I said: “That’s my handwriting, as you will see by comparing it with this on my ticket.”

“Now look on page forty and see if the table from Kansas City to St. Louis is not marked.”

She was convinced that I owned the book.

“Now, madam, if you will look over there on top of your telescope you will find your table, right where you put it when you came in. I am sorry to have troubled you, and as we journey through this vale of tears if I can ever do you a turn you may call on me. I like your spunk.”

“You go on about your bizness an’ let me erlone an’ I’ll ’tend to mine. If you’ll throw them yaller shoes in the river an’ give that jimswinger to some nigger you’ll look putty decent.”

When the old damsel got up to leave the train, I hurried up, like a young gallant, grabbed up her luggage and carried it to the door before she had time to protest.

“Good-bye, sweetheart,” I shouted, as the train pulled out, and in reply she yelled: “Shet your mouth, smarty!”