ket.

I speak of the porter and his humble lot in order to show the average
American boy who may read these lines that humor is not the only thing
in America which yields large dividends on a very small capital. To be a
porter does not require great genius, or education, or intellectual
versatility; and yet, well attended to, the business is remunerative in
the extreme and often brings excellent returns. It shows that any
American boy who does faithfully and well the work assigned to him may
become well-to-do and prosperous.

Recently I shook hands with a conductor on the Milwaukee and St. Paul
Railroad, who is the president of a bank. There is a general impression
in the public mind that conductors all die poor, but here is "Jerry," as
everybody calls him, a man of forty-five years of age, perhaps, with a
long head of whiskers and the pleasant position of president of a bank.
As he thoughtfully slams the doors from car to car, collecting fares on
children who are no longer young and whose parents seek to conceal them
under the seats, or as he goes from passenger to passenger sticking
large blue checks in their new silk hats, and otherwise taking advantage
of people, he is sustained and soothed by the blessed thought that he
has done the best he could, and that some day when the summons comes to
lay aside his loud-smelling lantern and make his last run, he will leave
his dear ones provided for. Perhaps I ought to add that during all
these years of Jerry's prosperity the road has also managed to keep the
wolf from the door. I mention it because it is so rare for the conductor
and the road to make money at the same time.

I knew a conductor on the Union Pacific railroad, some years ago, who
used to make a great deal of money, but he did not invest wisely, and so
to-day is not the president of a bank. He made a great deal of money in
one way or another while on his run, but the man with whom he was wont
to play poker in the evening is now the president of the bank. The
conductor is in the puree.

It was in Minneapolis that Mr. Cleveland was once injudicious. He and
his wife were pained to read the following report of their conversation
in the paper on the day after their visit to the flour city:

"Yes, I like the town pretty well, but the people, some of 'em, are too
blamed fresh."

"Do you think so, Grover? I thought they were very nice, indeed, but
still I think I like St. Paul the best. It is so old and respectabl