The man who runs a small "pop shop" on the Wilmington side of the bridge amused me with stories of the many young men he had seen beat their way from this point, and I got him to tell me just how the others had done, and was becoming quite brave, till he began describing how he had seen one man miss his footing, and showed me the spot where the cars had run over both legs. The train was coming! And the supreme test of the trip was at hand. I took up a position at the curve, which is about two hundred yards from the bridge. The engineer bestowed a quick glance at me as he passed, then his gaze wandered ahead. Grabbing up the two bundles, which were hidden behind a telegraph pole, I made a quick dash forward and succeeded in boarding the first coach from the engine, commonly known as the "blind baggage." I didn't stop on the car platform, as is usually done, but crawled to the top of the tender, which was well loaded with coal. As near as possible I made things comfortable by placing the largest lumps of coal out of reach, thus enabling me to partly conceal myself by lying down. Exultation was now mingled with excitement. I had just begun to congratulate myself when, to my dismay, I noted that the train was slackening speed. A moment later it stopped. Footsteps now sounded, hurriedly approaching the engine. I lay quite still, almost afraid to breathe, as the conductor and porter came up. "Come down from there! Come down!" cried the conductor. I raised up intending to ask him to let me go. "Come down, quick!" he cried. "Tramps and hobos are not allowed on this train." This was quite enough for John Reginald Peele, and without any more ado he crawled down. My first impulse was to knock out my insulter with a lump of hard coal, but better judgment prevailed, and I soon reached the ground by his side. After all, I reasoned, he was only performing his duty in putting me down, and he was fully justified in calling me a tramp and a hobo, for I was not only acting both these parts very well, but was now looking the part. [Illustration: "Come down quick!" he cried. "Tramps and hobos are not allowed on this train."] Before boarding the train I had been spotlessly clean. Now my hands were black, my white collar soiled, and my new clothes nearly ruined. This was the picture I presented to a score or more of curious passengers, who had poked their heads out of the car windows to ascertain the cause of the delay. In deep shame I hung my head, and it seemed that everyone of those passengers had recognized me. This was mere fancy, of course, for I was then over a hundred miles from home. At any rate, there was one thing certain. I had been left and the train was now belching forth black smoke far up the road. Those who had witnessed my defeat from the "pop shop" on the other side were now eagerly awaiting me as I recrossed the bridge, and they were ready with sympathy as I told them how I had been put down.