Short stories; United States -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
"'Well,' I says, 'we takes our choice. Maybe Albany,' I says. 'The
legislature is in special session there, and a couple of grafters more
or less wont make no material difference--they'll probably take us for
members. Maybe Rochester,' I says, 'which is a pleasant city, full of
large and thriving industries. Maybe,' I says, 'if this here train don't
take a notion to climb down off the track and go berry-picking, maybe
Chicago. Of course,' I says, 'Chi ain't quite so polished as Noo Yawk.
Chi has been called crude by some. When I think of Noo Yawk,' I says, 'I
think of a peroxide chorus lady going home at three o'clock in the
morning in two taxicabs, but when I think of Chicago I'm reminded of a
soused hired girl, with red hair, on a rampage. But,' I says, 'what's
the difference? Everywhere you go,' I says, 'there's always human life,
and Chicago is reputed to be quite full of population and very probably
we can find a few warm-hearted persons there who are more or less
addicted to taking a chance.'
"But you know how it is in these matters--you never can tell. Just as
I'm concluding my remarks touching on our two largest cities, this here
brakeman comes snooping along and intimates that we better be thinking
about getting off. He's probably the biggest brakeman living. If he was
any bigger than what he is, he'd be twins. We endeavors to argue him out
of the notion but it seems like he's sort of set in his mind. Besides,
being so much larger than either one of us or both of us put together,
for that matter, he has the advantage in repartee. So he makes an issue
of it and we sees our way clear to getting off without waiting for the
locomotive to slow up or anything. After our departure, the train
continues on its way thither, we remaining hither.
"'My young friend,' I says when the dust has settled down, 'the question
which you propounded about five minutes ago is now answered in the
affirmative. This is where we get off--right here on this identical
spot. I don't know the name of the place,' I says; 'maybe it's so far
out in the suburbs that they ain't found time to get round to it yet and
give it a name; but,' I says, 'there's one consolation. By glancing
first up this way and then down that way you will observe that from here
to the point where the rails meet down yonder is exactly the same
distance that it is from here to where the rails meet up
yonderways--proving,' I says, 'that we are in the exact center of the
country. So let us be up and doing,' I says, 'specially doing. But the
first consideration,' I say, 'is vittles.'
"You know me well enough to know," interjected Mr. Doolan, interrupting
the thread of his narrative for a moment and turning to me with a wave
of his stout arm, "that I ain't no glutton. I can eat my grub when it's
set before me or I can let it alone, only I never do. I never begin to
think about the next meal till I'm almost through with the last one. And
right now my mind seems to dwell on breakfast.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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