Democratic Sentinel, Volume 9, Number 28, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 August 1885 — Sweet Revenge. [ARTICLE]

Sweet Revenge.

As you goto Boston and Hartford via the Boston and Albany Railroad, if you take the morning express, there are two parlor cars thereunto attached, with all the appurtenances thereunto apperI taining, including a porter with a wisp • broom in one hand and a place for a ' quarter in the other. Now these two i parlor cars are twins, different only, as | is the case with twins, in their names. The last time I went out that wav, one of these cars was Gov. Hawley, and the other was “’T’other Gov’nor,” I don’t remember who. AH went well until we reached Springfield. There the usual halt of five or ten minutes was made, the parlor car i for Albany was switched off to its proper train and we went thundering on to Hartford. Before we were out of the depot an old gentleman confronted me—roundfaced, well-dressed, quick-spoken, a little crusty and with a general air of authority about him. “Young man,” he said, sharply, “out of that.” “Out of which?” I said, in innocent surprise. “Out of that chair,” snapped the old party. “Come, be lively; I want to sit down.” I was puzzled and annoyed and stammered something about this being a parlor car and “Yes, yes,” he said, impatiently, “I know all about that; this is a parlor car, and you’ve got my seat. Get up and get out of it without any more words. Get a seat of your own somewhere and don’t go around appropriating other people’s chairs when they’ve gone for lunch. Get out, young fellow. ” l am naturally a very meek man, but I did make one more desperate effort to retain my seat. I said I had occupied that seat “Ever since I got out of it at Springfield,” snarled the old man. “I rode in that seat all the way from Boston, and the minute I left it you jumped into it. And now you jump out of it, and no more words about it, or I’ll make the car full of trouble for you.” It began to dawn on me then just how matters stood. In fact I knew, but I was nettled. Everybody in the car was laughing at me, and I do hate to be laughed at. I determined to wait for my sure revenge. I said; “You’ll be sorry if you take this chair.” He snorted fiercely, and I abdicated without another word in favor of the testy old jumper of claims who thus summarily evicted me. I arose, gathered up my hat, overcoat, lap tablet, newspapers, book, big valise, little valise and arctics, and thus burdened walked meekly to the rear of the car and sat down on the meanest, poorest, most uncomfortable seat in the whole train, the upholstered bench under the big mirror. The wood-box in the smoking car is an easy chair in comparison with that bench. By and by the chair-grabber called out: “Young man, where is that little red hand-bag I left here ?” I meekly said, “I have not touched it,” and he roared out that it was there when I took the chair. But just then the conductor came along and glanced at his ticket while the old party explained how I had made way with his little red hand-bag. “That young man back there,” he explained, “was in my chair when I returned, and my overshoes and a little red hand-bag are ” Conductor, a brisk, taciturn man, full of his own business, here handed back the old party’s ticket. “Wrong train,” he said, brusquely. “Get off at next station. This train for Hartford and New York. ” The old gentleman’s face was a study. “For Ha-Ha-wha-what!” he shouted. “I know better! Told me at Boston this car went through to Albany.” “Lem’ see parlor car ticket,” said the conductor, briefly. “Yes, that’s all right, you’re on wrong car; this ticket’s for the other car. Your baggage half way t’ Albany by this time. Get off at Hartford.” “Well, when can I get a train back to Springfield?” wailed the jumper of chairs. “T’-night, ” said the conductor, and passed on to the next car. Then I arose. I gathered up in my weak and long-suffering arms, my hat, overcoat, lap tablet, newspapers, book, big valise, little valise and arctics, and walked back to that chair and stood before the most crest-fallen man the immortal gods ever pitied. I didn’t make a gesture; I just stood up before him, holding my goods, personal effects and railway chattels in my arms and looked at him. He arose and vamoosed the claim. And as I settled down in my recovered possession I made only one remark. I said to the poor old gentleman: “I told you you’d be sorry if you took this chair.” And he marched back and took a seat on the upholstered bench, to the merry laughter of the happy passengers, and the last time I looked around, oh, crowning woe, the conductor was making him pay a quarter for his seat in the parlor car. — 11. J. Burdette, in Burlington Hawkeye. It is said that John Wesley was once walking with a brother, who related to him his troubles, saying he did not know what he should do. They were at that moment passing a stone fence to a meadow over which a cow was looking. “Do you know,” said Wesley, i “why the cow looks over the wall ?” i “No,” replied the one in trouble. “I will tell you,” said Wesley, “because she can not look through it: and that is what you must do with your trouble; look over and above them. ” The gradual disappearance of caterpillars, dog-bugs, and fireflies during the past few years is noted.