The Evening Herald

Old Yankee Was Sick to Death of Atmosphere of Peacefulness Which Surrounded Him.

An old Yankee was station master, telegraphic operator, ticket agent and baggageman at a small town in Maine. A passenger bought a ticket to New York. Then he walked round to the baggage room to have his trunk checked. The whiskered little ticket agent met him in his new character as baggageman. "Won't check it!" he said.

"Why not? That's a perfectly good ticket. You just sold it to me. The ticket permits me to check baggage on it."

"Said I wouldn't check it an' I won't check it."

"But you have to check it!"

"Don't talk big to me, young man. I'm boss here. Said I wouldn't check it, an' I won't."

Then followed 15 minutes of heated dispute. Then the distant whistle of the approaching train was heard. The old man peered down the track and then returned to the passenger.

"Changed my mind," said he. "I'll check it."

"But why all this row? Why wouldn't you check it in the first place and save all this argument?"

"Young feller," responded the railroad functionary, without even a twinkle in his eye, "I'll tell you how 'tis. For a spell, nobody's been a-comin' down here like they used to. Hang 'round th' postoffice drivlin' 'baout peace an' politics 'n slch. Been lonesome. 'Hain't had enny argymint with nobody in three months, an' b'gosh! I wuz go'n' to hev one or bu'st!"—New York correspondent in Cincinnati Commercial Tribune.