One night I chanced to be in Galesburg, Illinois, situated on the Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy Railroad. I was with a hobo called "Elmira Fatty," and we were on our way to "Chi," or Chicago, as polite people call it. We had just come in from the West, where we had spent some time with the blanket-stiffs, and as far as Galesburg we had had no misfortune or bad luck to report. In fact, from Salt Lake City on everything had gone just as we had planned, and we were hoping that night that nothing might interfere to prevent us from arriving in "Chi" the next morning. We expected to travel on a freight-train that was due in Galesburg about nine o'clock. It was a mean night for traveling, for the rain came down in torrents and the wind blew most exasperatingly. Nevertheless, we wanted to push on if practicable, and about half-past eight went over to the railroad yards to wait for the freight. It came in on time, and Fatty and I immediately took different sections of it in search of an "empty." He looked over the forward part, and I inspected the cars near the caboose. We met again in a few minutes, and reported that "there wasn't an empty in the whole line." "Wy," said Fatty, "it's nothin' but a ---- ole steer-train! Ev'ry blasted car is full of 'em." I suggested that we wait for another, but he would not listen to me. "No, sir. If we break our necks, we'll ride that train." "But where are you going to ride?" I queried. "On top, o' course." I knew that it was useless to argue with him, and followed him up the ladder. We sat down on the top of a car, with the rain simply pouring down upon us. Pretty soon the whistle tooted and the train started. As we pulled out of the yards the brakeman came over the train, and espied me instantly. "Hello, Shorty!" he said, in a jovial way. "Where you goin'?" "Oh, just up the road a bit. No objections, have you?" "No, I guess I ain't got no objections. But say, you lads are big fools." "Here, here!" said Fatty, angrily. "Who you callin' fools?" "I'm callin' you fools, 'n' y' are, too." "See here," continued Fatty; "if you call me a fool agen I'll put yer face in--I will, by gosh!" and he stood up to make good his threat. "Don't get 'uffy; don't get 'uffy," said the brakey, soothingly. "Lemme tell you somethin'. See them hay-boxes over there on the corner o' the car?" "Hay-boxes!" exclaimed Fatty, and he looked at me in surprise. "Come over 'n' look at 'em." We followed him to the end of the car, and there, true enough, after he had lifted the lid, was a most comfortable hay-box, nearly full of nice soft hay. Fatty was almost wild with delight, and patting me on the back, said: "W'y, Cig, this is a perfect palace-car, ain't it! Gosh!"