CHAPTER XXI.

THE CONDUCTOR'S DREAM.

He had been on the train all day, had met all kinds of people, received all
sorts of treatment, punctured all kinds of tickets, shouted "All out!" and
"All aboard!" till throat, and head, and hand, and foot were weary. It
would be a long while before we would get to another depot, and so he
sagged down in the corner of the car to sleep. He was in the most
uncomfortable position possible. The wind blew in his neck, his arm was
hung over the back of the seat, he had one foot under him, and his knee
pressing hard against a brass hinge. In that twisted and convoluted
position he fell asleep, and soon began to dream.

It seemed to him, in his sleep, that the car was full of disagreeables.
Here was a man who persisted in having a window up, while the rain and
sleet drove in. There was a man who occupied the whole seat, and let the
ladies stand. Here sat a man smoking three poor cigars at once, and
expectorating into the beaver hat of the gentleman in front. Yonder was a
burglar on his way to jail, and opposite a murderer going to the gallows.
He thought that pickpockets took his watch and ruffians refused to pay
their fare. A woman traveling alone shot at him a volley of questions:
"Say, conductor, how long before we will get to the Junction?" "Are you
sure we have not passed it?" "Do you always stop there?" "What time is it?"
Madam, do keep quiet! "None of your impudence!" "How far from here to the
Junction?" "Do you think that other train will wait?" "Do you think we
will get there in time?" "Say, conductor, how many miles yet?" "Are you
looking out?" "Now, you won't let me go past, will you?" "Here! conductor,
here! Help me out with my carpet bag, and band-box, and shawl, and
umbrella, and this bundle of sausage and head-cheese." What was worse, the
train got going one hundred and fifty miles an hour, and pulling the
connecting rope, it broke, and the cars got off the track, and leaped on
again, and the stove changed places with the wood box, and things seemed
going to terrible split and unmitigated smash. The cities flew past. The
brakes were powerless. The whistle grew into a fiend's shriek. Then the
train began to slow up, and sheeted ghosts swung lanterns along the track,
and the cars rolled into a white depot, which turned out to be a great
marble tomb; and looking back to see his passengers, they were all stark
dead, frozen in upright horror to the car backs.

Hearing by