Mower County Transcript

Except the Country Youth with His Loud Smelling Burden.

It was at the outer end of the Fifteenth Street line late yesterday afternoon, just when the business from the Independent dummy line was at its best, that a lank, hungry-looking country youth with a bundle under his arm got aboard the car. He edged his way through the crowd of passengers, and as a gentleman got up to leave the car the young countryman slid into the vacant seat. He brought his bundle around on his lap, where he held it carefully with both hands.

At the moment the young man got on the car everybody noticed a dreadful smell. Few noticed the young man, and every passenger turned to the next person, and, with a look as disdainful as a turned-up nose could produce, moved as far away as the crowded condition of the car would permit. One little man turned to his neighbor, a fat, puffy-looking old fellow, and, with a look full of meaning, drew his coat about him, and, holding his nose, edged off a foot or two. The big man looked suspiciously at the little fellow a moment and then blurted out:

"Lookahere, you an't insinuatin' that I'm the cause of that smell, are you?"

The little man murmured something and the big fellow grumbled and got off the car. The lady passengers held their noses, and the polish on the stove began to slowly crack and peel off. Then a window pane broke and the atmosphere in the car became so dense that you couldn't hear the bell two feet away when the conductor rang up a fare. After five minutes the passengers got tired of looking at each other insinuatingly, and the doors were not big enough to let them off as fast as they wanted to go. In ten minutes the car was vacated by every one except the country youth and the conductor, the latter hanging feebly on to the rear step. He reached for the bell-rope with a trembling hand and stopped the car. Not ringing again the gripman came back to learn the trouble.

"What's up?" he asked. "Ye sick?"

"I'm hoodooed," returned the conductor, gasping.

"The car's haunted, sure 's you live."

The gripman opened the door and entered. After moving two steps he stopped.

"Great guns!" he shouted. "Look here, boy, how do you stand this?"

The country lad looked up with a surprised air. "Stand what?" he asked. "I don't see nothin'."

"But the smell—where does it come from?"

"Oh, that's it, eh?" responded the rural youth. "I guess if there's any smell it must come from the pole-cat I've got in the sack."

The strong arms of the gripman landed the youth, sack and all, in the street in less than ten seconds.

"Rule I of this here comp'ny's regulations," remarked that individual, "says that no skunks kin ride on this line outside the baggage car."—Kansas City Times.