Then I began, to choke up again, and then I coughed, and then I could feel something fat and mysterious playing hide and go seek around my brain, but outside all was black as ink, and only from the noise could I tell that the road was still paying dividends. The air began to get close and thick like a porterhouse steak in a St. Louis hotel. I began to breathe like my wife crochets an open-faced stocking--one, two, three, drop one; one, two, three, four, drop one. Then my blood began to curdle and cold chills ran up my back and liked it so well they ran down again. My respiration was 8 to 1, my inspiration was 9 to 6 for a place, and my perspiration was like a cloudburst. I had made my will with a few mental and Indian reservations, and was choking up for the last time when, with one mighty jump forward, the train shook itself free from the tunnel and once more we were out in the sunlight. After picking enough sulphur off my clothes to make a box of matches, I reached gently over and tried to put the window up, but it was closed tighter than a sacred saloon on Sunday. I gave the window-sash a couple of upper-cuts and a few short-arm punches, but it sat there and laughed in my face. The brakeman came through, and I spoke to him about the window. He said, "The first time I see the president of the road I'll tell him about it!" and left me flat. Once more I tried to open that window, but I only succeeded in opening my collar; so then I opened my mouth and made a short but spicy announcement, whereupon the old lady in the seat ahead of me got up and left the car. Just then the train pulled into a station which I hadn't paid for, but I went out and took it, because it contained a little fresh air. Some day I will mention the name of this railroad company and make them blush. Well, after I left Bunch that afternoon, I ducked for the depot, and reached Ruraldene just in time to witness the beginning of a most painful episode. The house was lighted up from cellar to attic. As soon as I opened the door I found our respected Mayor, Uncle Peter, and he was also lit up. "It's a surprise, Johnny," he whispered hoarsely. "Clara J. is giving an entertainment for the benefit of the Christian Soldiers' League, and it's going to cost you two dollars to come into your own house." It made an awful hit with Uncle Peter to see me cough up those two bones, but I said nothing and made good. My wife called it a musicale, but to me it looked more like a fight. With the help of Aunt Martha and Alice Grey, my wife arranged the programme and kept it dark to surprise the rest of the family. It was such a surprise to me that I felt like doing a glide to the woodlands. It was my second experience with a musicale, and this one cured me all right.