brake machinery in warning. I helped her over the side of the box, and as we walked away she shouted back to the bereaved express train a consolatory couplet:—
"First the worst, second the same,
Last the best of all the game!"
That superb machinery of travel was silent, and the mechanics and officials, robbed of their passenger, eyed us with disfavor.
"They are terrapin-buzzards!" exclaimed my woman child, with deep conviction.
I shuddered fittingly at the violence of her speech.
Before we had gone far the train-boy deserted his post and came running after us.
"John B. Gough!" he exclaimed bitterly—profanely.
"He's swearing," warned his sister. "Look out, Uncle Maje, or he'll say 'Gamboge' next."
"I don't care," retorted the indignant follower; "you can't have a train without any passenger—it's silly. I don't care if I do say Gamboge. There! Gamboge it!"
I turned upon him. I had endured "terrapin-buzzards," hurled at the group by my woman child, perceiving need of relief for her pent-up passion. I had, moreover, for the same reason, permitted my namesake to roll under his tongue the formidable and satisfying expletive, "John B. Gough!" But I felt that the line must be drawn at Gamboge. Terrapin-buzzards was bad enough, though it was true that this
