THE CONDUCTOR'S DREAM.
He had been on the train all day, had met all kinds of people, received all
sorts of treatment, punctured all kinds of tickets, shouted "All out!" and
"All aboard!" till throat, and head, and hand, and foot were weary. It
would be a long while before we would get to another depot, and so he
sagged down in the corner of the car to sleep. He was in the most
uncomfortable position possible. The wind blew in his neck, his arm was
hung over the back of the seat, he had one foot under him, and his knee
pressing hard against a brass hinge. In that twisted and convoluted
position he fell asleep, and soon began to dream.
It seemed to him, in his sleep, that the car was full of disagreeables.
Here was a man who persisted in having a window up, while the rain and
sleet drove in. There was a man who occupied the whole seat, and let the
ladies stand. Here sat a man smoking three poor cigars at once, and
expectorating into the beaver hat of the gentleman in front. Yonder was a
burglar on his way to jail, and opposite a murderer going to the gallows.
He thought that pickpockets took his watch and ruffians refused to pay
their fare. A woman traveling alone shot at him a volley of questions:
"Say, conductor, how long before we will get to the Junction?" "Are you
sure we have not passed it?" "Do you always stop there?" "What time is it?"
Madam, do keep quiet! "None of your impudence!" "How far from here to the
Junction?" "Do you think that other train will wait?" "Do you think we
will get there in time?" "Say, conductor, how many miles yet?" "Are you
looking out?" "Now, you won't let me go past, will you?" "Here! conductor,
here! Help me out with my carpet bag, and band-box, and shawl, and
umbrella, and this bundle of sausage and head-cheese." What was worse, the
train got going one hundred and fifty miles an hour, and pulling the
connecting rope, it broke, and the cars got off the track, and leaped on
again, and the stove changed places with the wood box, and things seemed
going to terrible split and unmitigated smash. The cities flew past. The
brakes were powerless. The whistle grew into a fiend's shriek. Then the
train began to slow up, and sheeted ghosts swung lanterns along the track,
and the cars rolled into a white depot, which turned out to be a great
marble tomb; and looking back to see his passengers, they were all stark
dead, frozen in upright horror to the car backs.
Hearing by the man's snore, and seeing by his painful look, he was having
an awful dream, we tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Conductor! Turn
over that seat, and take my shawl, and stretch yourself out, and have a
comfortable nap." "Thank you, sir," he said, and immediately sprawled
himself out in the easiest way possible. He began his slumbers just as an
express train glides gracefully out of Pittsburg depot; then went at it
more earnestly, lifted all the brakes, put on all the steam, and in five
minutes was under splendid headway. He began a second dream, but it was the
opposite of the first. He thought that he had just stepped on the platform
of his car, and a lady handed him a bouquet fresh from the hot house. A
long line of railroad presidents and superintendents had come to the depot
to see him off, and tipped their hats as he glided out into the open air.
The car was an improvement on Pullman's best. Three golden goblets stood at
the end, and every time he turned the spigot of the water cask, it foamed
soda-water--vanilla if you turned it one way, strawberry if you turned it
the other. The spittoon was solid silver, and had never been used but once,
when a child threw into it an orange peeling. The car was filled with lords
and duchesses, who rose and bowed as he passed through to collect the fare.
They all insisted on paying twice as much as was demanded, telling him to
give half to the company and keep the rest for himself. Stopped a few
minutes at Jolly Town, Gleeville and Velvet Junction, making connection
with the Grand Trunk and Pan-Handle route for Paradise. But when the train
halted there was no jolt, and when it started there was no jerk. The track
was always clear, no freight train in the way, no snow bank to be
shoveled--train always on time. Banks of roses on either side, bridges with
piers of bronze, and flagmen clad in cloth-of-gold. The train went three
hundred miles the hour, but without any risk, for all the passengers were
insured against accident in a company that was willing to pay four times
the price of what any neck was worth. The steam whistle breathed as sweetly
as any church choir chanting its opening piece. Nobody asked the conductor
to see his time-table, for the only dread any passenger had was that of
coming to the end of its journey.
As night came on the self-adjusting couches spread themselves on either
side; patent bootjacks rolled up and took your boots off; unseen fingers
tucked the damask covers all about you, and the porter took your
pocket-book to keep till morning, returning it then with twice what you
had in it at nightfall. After a while the train slackens to one hundred
and seventy-five miles an hour, and the conductor, in his dream, announces
that they are coming near the terminus. More brakes are dropped and they
are running but ninety miles the hour; and some one, looking out of the
window, says, "How slow we go!" "Yes," says the conductor, "we are holding
up." Now they have almost stopped, going at only seventy miles the hour.
The long line of depot lamps are flashing along the track. On the platform
of the station are the lovers who are waiting for their betrothed, and
parents who have come down to greet their children, returned with a
fortune, and wives who have not been able to eat or drink since their
spouses went away three weeks before. As the cushioned train flashes into
the depot and stops, wedding bells peal, and the gong of many banquets
sounds, and white arms are flung about necks, reckless of mistake, and
innumerable percussions of affection echo through the depot, so crisp and
loud that they wake the conductor, who thought that the boisterous smack
was on his own cheek, but finds that he is nothing but a bachelor railroad
man, with a lantern, at midnight getting out into a snow bank.
Application: Get an easy position when you sleep, if you have any choice
between angels and gorgons. At midnight, seizing a chair, I ran into the
next room, resolving to kill, at the first stroke, the ruffian who was
murdering a member of my household. But there was no ruffian. The sweet
girl had, during the day, been reading of St. Bartholomew's massacre, and
was now lying on her back, dreaming it all over again. When dreams find
anyone lying flat on the back, they cry out, "Here is a flat surface on
which to skate and play ball," and from scalp to toe they sport
themselves. The hardest nag in all the world to ride is the nightmare.
Many think that sleep is lost time. But the style of your work will be
mightily affected by the style of your slumber. Sound Asleep is sister of
Wide Awake. Adam was the only man who ever lost a rib by napping too
soundly; but when he woke up, he found that, instead of the twelve ribs
with which he started, he really had nigh two dozen. By this I prove that
sleep is not subtraction, but addition. This very night may that angel put
balm on both your eyelids five minutes after you touch the pillow!