28. XXVIII.
HE HAD THE LITTLE VOUCHER IN HIS
POCKET.
L—lived in this city several years ago.
He dealt in horses, carriages, &c. Hearing
of a good chance to sell buggies up West
he embarked with a lot for that “great”
country. At Toledo he took a Michigan
Southern train. Somebody had, by way of
a joke, warned him against the conductor
of that particular train, telling him that said
conductor had an eccentric way of taking
up tickets at the beginning of the journey,
and of denying that he had done so and
demanding fare at the end thereof. This
the confiding L—swallowed. He determined
not to be swindled in this way, and
so when the conductor came around and
asked him for his ticket he declined giving
it up. The conductor insisted—L—
still refused. “I've got the little voucher
in my pocket,” he said, with a knowing
look, slyly slapping the pocket which contained
the ticket. The conductor glanced
at L—'s stalwart frame. He had heard
L— spoken of as a fighting man. He
preferred not to grapple with him. The
train was a light one, and it so happened
that L— was the only man in this, the
hind car. So the conductor had the train
stopped, and quietly unhitched this car.
“Good day, Mr. L—,” he yelled, “just
keep that little voucher in your pocket and
be d—d to you!” L— jumped up and
saw the other cars moving rapidly away. He
was left solitary and alone in a dismal
piece of woods, known as the Black Swamp.
He remained there in the car until night,
when the down train came along and took
him to Toledo. He had to pay fare, his
up through-ticket not being good on that
train. His buggies had gone unattended
to Chicago. He was very angry. He finally
got through, but he will never hear the last
of that “little voucher.”
