Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 19, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 January 1916 — Kin Hubbard Essays [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Kin Hubbard Essays

TH’ COUNTRY DEPOT

By KIN HUBBARD.

Did you ever think o’ th’ humor an’ pathos that hang about th* depot in a little town where a No. 18 goes east ever’ mornin' an’ a No. 21 goes west ever’ afternoon?, What a part th’ cornin’ an’ goin’ o’ these trains play in th’ lives o’ th’ inhabitants—er a good many o’ ’em at any rate? Ever’ traveler is familiar with th’ types along th’ railroad in a one-col-umn town, beginnin’ with th’ woman that waves th’ train in from her porch, high above th’ tracks, t’ th’ engineer o’ th’ saw mill in th’ bottoms, that waves her out from th’ boifer room door. Ther’s th’ constable, with th’ corduroy trousers an’ flarin’ badge, that sets on th’ Iron pipe railin’ that

incloses th’ little triangular shaped grass plot with a geranium bed surrounded by whitewashed stones in th’ center, an.th’ ole mail carrier with a mouth full o’ letters an’ a’ mall pouch In each hand. Then ther’s th’ one-leg-ged boy whose one longin’ in life wuz t’ be a brakeman, an’ who started out by grabbin’ th’ last coach an’ ridin’t’ th’ crossln’ an’ then growin’ bolder an’ rldln’t’ th’ cattle pens, an’ then, finally holdin’ on till he lost his leg out by th’ gravel pit. He knows all th’ signals an’ some o’ th’ conductors by ther fust names. Then ther’s th’ girl with th’ picture hat an’ one eye exposed that shows up as if by magic when th’ train pulls up an' who disappears as mysteriously when th’ last coach goes behind th’ grain elevator. She walks carelessly up an’ down th’ platform lookin’ in the car windows an’ smiles at all th’ fat fellers in tourist caps. She’s th.’ village mystery., Ther’s th’ boy that’s goln’ back t’ th’ city t’ school er t’ work. Th’ village reporter is a great feller an’ carries a red, white an’ blue lead pencil an’ a school tablet an’ sets down items fer his paper on th’ spot. He don’t even trust his memory. He’s al-

lowed t' walk right in th’ ticket agent’s office an’ gitja drink o’ water er use th’ shoe brush. Wh’ sometimes he’ll jump right in a baggage car an’ out th’ other side. ( ■ ■ “How’s 18, Sam?” heli say, right out t’ th’ agent. —“On time? That’s the stuff. Joe Rule must be pullin’ her. He’s some engineer, believe me. I’ve got a date with a certain party up town at ten o’clock, believe me. Know anything t’ print? It’s purty dull, believe me. Who wuz th’ party that changed yisterday off o’ 21 fer th’ hack t’ Zanesfield? I guess she wuz, believe me. Hello, Ferd, Is May cornin’ in on 18? What, another week? She’s makin’

some visit, believe me. Wuz that your mother’s niece that came In on 23 Tuesday? I thought that wuz who she wuz. Tell her t’ look in th’ Bugle Friduy. Nix now, don’t tell her J wrote it Is ole man Nugent goin’ away, Sam? Oh, jist wanted t’ knew how 18 wuz? Well, she’s whistlin’ now, right on th' dot, believe me." Then th’ ole mall carrier with a lock pouch In one hand an’ a tie sack in th’ other walks down th’ platform with his mouth full o’ letters, an’ th’ grocery drummer says, “So long, boys,” an’ th’ village hearse rolls slowly up t’ th’ south side o’ th’ depot where th’ bosses can’t see th’ engine. When th* train comes t’ a standstill a pine box Is carefully lifted off an’ carried t’ th’ hearse. As th’ little crowd gathers a low moan is heard, an' Iry Nugent, ole an’ stooped, tenderly places his arms about a frail little woman in a faded alpaca dress an’ says, "Ther, now, maw, don’t carry on so. We know where she is now.’’ “Who’s in th’ box?” th’ Bugle reporter whispers t’ th’ constable., "Annie Nugent, little Annie Nugent, we used t’ call her.”

"Then There’s th’ Girl With th’ Picture Hat an’ One Eye Exposed That Shows Up as If by Magic When th’ Train Pulls Up an’ Who Disappears as Mysteriously When th’ Last Coach Goes Behind th’ Grain Elevator.”