at me in
Yiddish, so I decided that our lawn could grow whiskers like a
Populist farmer and be hanged to it.

Another splendid bit of local color in the life of some commuters
is the tunnel which runs from Forty-second Street up as far as One
Hundred and Fifty in the shade.

A ride through this tunnel on a hot day will put you over on Woosey
Avenue quicker than a No. 9 pill in Hop Lee's smoke factory.

In order to get out to Ruraldene I have to use the tunnel, and
every time I use it it leaves something which looks like the mark
of Cain across my brow.

The first day I went through that tunnel will always remain one of
my hottest memories.

I lost nine pounds of solid flesh somewhere between my shoulder
blade and Seventy-ninth Street.

The sensation is the same as a Bad Man's hereafter, including the
sulphur.

First I choked up a little, then I coughed, then I stirred
uneasily, and then I looked out the window and prayed for the
daylight, and then I looked at my newspaper, but I couldn't read
it, because the railroad company had found the gas bill pretty
heavy last month and they were cutting down expenses.

Then I lost my breath, and when I got it back I found it wasn't
mine.

Then I began to fan myself with my hat, but I stopped when the man
behind me began to kick because I was handing him more than his
just share of the tunnel gas.

Then I began, to choke up again, and then I coughed, and then I
could feel something fat and mysterious playing hide and go seek
around my brain, but outside all was black as ink, and only from
the noise could I tell that the road was still paying dividends.

The air began to get close and thick like a porterhouse steak in a
St. Louis hotel.

I began to breathe like my wife crochets an open-faced
stocking--one, two, three, drop one; one, two, three, four, drop
one.

Then my blood began to curdle and cold chills ran up my back and
liked it so well they ran down again.

My respiration was 8 to 1, my inspiration was 9 to 6 for a place,
and my perspiration was like a cloudburst.

I had made my will with a few mental and Indian reservations, and
was choking up for the last time when, with one mighty jump
forward, the train shook itself free from the tunnel and once more
we were out in the sunlight.

After picking enough sulphur off my clothes to make a box of
matches, I reached gently over and tried to put the window up, but
it was closed tighter than a sacred saloon