It will stop at annything. It wud stop
at nawthin'.
"In this way ye get a good idee iv th' jography iv ye'er native land. Ye
make a ten minyit stay at bustlin' little villages that ye didn't know
were on th' map, an' ain't on anny map that ye buy. Th' on'y place th'
thrain don't stop is at Mudville-be-th'-Cannery. Ye look into th' folder
an' see ye'er town marked 'see note b.' Note b says: 'Thrains two to
sixteen stop at Mudville on'y whin wrecked.' 'What is th' number iv
this here cannon-ball express?' says ye to th' conductor man. 'Number
twelve,' says he. 'How am I goin' to get off there?' says ye. 'How do ye
usually get off a movin' thrain?' says he. 'Forward or backward?' says
he. 'If ye'll go ahead to th' postal car an' get into a mail bag th'
clerk may hang ye on th' hook as we pass. He's a good shot. He made
three out iv tin last week,' he says.
"But in due time ye reach ye'er destynation an' onpack ye'er thrunks an'
come home again. A frind iv mine, a prom'nent railroad officyal who
calls th' thrains at th' Union deepo, tells me he's cured his wife iv
wantin' to go on a vacation. Whiniver he sees her readin' advertisements
iv th' summer resorts he knows that th' fit is coming on, an' befure she
gets to th' stage iv buyin' a cure f'r freckles he takes her down to
th' deepo an' shows her th' people goin' on their vacations an' comin'
back.
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