Burdette And The Train Boy

i Dougnt tiio applo of tho train boy. Not because I wanted it, oh no. I did it to save human lifc; my own human life. I did it to appeasn the train boy, whn had turned hirnsulf loose on rne at Council Bluffs, and was going to make me buy sornething before wo got to St. Josoph (pronounced Sinjo, acceut heavy on the Jo), or lick me. He wantod me to buy ali of Prof. Matthow'a books except the gospel, and nino of E. P. Koe's novols, and Taylor'a "World oa Wheols" and "Belweon tho Gates." and seven or eight of Pinkerton's fearful and woudotfnl detective stories and a wholo library of French novéis with very flashy titles and disappointingly tamo reading, and sonio California peürs and Siberian oranges, and some Alaska figs and Senegambian grapes, some candy packages with a beautiful priia and a $10 bil! in every package excopi the ono he sold mo, and some ivory ornamont3 made of ivory that grows on trees, and somo fiesh roasted peanuts which he -assured mo wero Georgo Washiagton's favorito fruit, that would purify tho blood, make the hair curl, whiten tho teeth, make the complexion clear and proinoto longoyity, and somo English walnut raeats;, vintage of 1788, a railway guide of last July aml somo apples. I reflected. I did not think I ought to buy all these things, because I have a family to support, and I am not so wealthy as I am said toboby tbc EOlïcï"ing committees of poverty stikken churches and tottering college?. But I feit, as perhaps you havo feit a thousand times, dear boy, that I had to buy something of that boy, or lio down on the floor of tho car and dio. So I bought apples. I solected applos because they aro palatable, nutrítious snd choap. I asked him how he sold his apples. With oxceediDg scoro he said: Twoforra cent" (whiclv by interprotation is, two for a cent). I think ho said two for a cont I know I had just missed a lectura engagement by railroading into a sno.v-drift the night bofore, aad eonsequently had just enough moiiey lelt to buy one, in a job lot. I bit it with great difficulty and littlo joj. sing hey, "the leathory fnngin that it was. 1 handod it back to tho boy and told him to keep it; h9 might want to kill a dog with it somo day. Tho boy. with tho cativo inrlependenco of his class, said that I didn'tknowa good applo when I got or.e. He opined, indeed, and very opinoly, too, in a loud tono of expression, for tho benefit of tho wholo car, that when I had any orchard fruit at home I regalcd inyself hke a prinee, on dried apples. I did not smite the boy nor upbraid him witb hard and stinging words. Moro, indeed, in sorrow than in angor I told him I did know what a good applo was, and I know whero thoy used to grow, and moroover, if he would bring ma one now. my entiro bank account, with all the hereditameut?, protests and ovordrafts thereunto appertaining, should be his. Tho oüiy good applea in tho world, lineal deseëndants of the golden stock ot Hosperides, used to grow twonty-five or thirty years ago, on anold farm three or four miles out of Peoría, 111., oa tho Mount Holly road. I told tho boy they wero not always a fair applo to look upon in thoir early youth, when I loved thom best. They wero hard on ono sido and green on the other, They were gnarly all the way round and sour all tho way through. Thero was moro beartaoho and sorrow and dcep seateel gnawing remorse aud heartfelt sorrow and honest ponitence in ono of those applcs, after you had eateu a peck of them in thö asmo afternoon, than thero is now ia a wholo green watermelon . Nevertholoss I used to go into that orchard at 8 a. m., oat apples till 11: 30 and 'hen íeel hungry for a big dinner. And I told the boy if ho would bring me ono of those npplus now, with tho same oíd tasto and ilavor that it had a quarter of a century ago, with the same oíd smeil of clover and apple blossoms lingering around it; the saino old idlo breezos that kissed my boyish chenks in the loDg, delightful, truant summer afternoons; with a whistle of a Bob Whito over in tho stubble field beyond tho cow pasture; and the murraur of tho brook which went sineing over the pobbles at the foot of thö orchard hill; with tho music of tho bees humming and buzzlng about in the sweet red eloyor tops; bring them to me evon with tho old well-remembered and pecuüarly pucgent ilavor of the buargy whip which frcquently soasoned those apples -because no boy eould always get over tho fenco in time - I told him I would gladly, give him $50 for just ono apple. But tho boy looked at me whh a nameless fear and backed off down the aislo of tho car and touched the conductor on the elbow and said: "Bill! Say, Bill, who has charge of the lunatic on the wood box?" Ah, doaiiy beloved; thore's nolunacy about it. We know now, and some timo the boy will know, that apples aro not so good as thoy were 25 years ago. Nothing ii so good to us, in fact. The apples are tough and Üavorless; tho grass is wiry and thin where it usod to bo living volvet underourfeot; the days aro not so long; tho nights havo grown coldor; tho stars shine loss brightly and there aro not so many of them. I countcd thom tho othor night and thore are half . a dozan misging; the cows don't come homo so early; tho dogs aro crosser; Christmas don't como so closo apart as it used to. Everything changes except the circus. So runs the world away. But it doesn't run away with a coachman, thank the gods. Which only goes to prove that the jvorld is much prouder and botter than the peoplewhojive it.