nge-cakes erected atop of the counter,
and lastly exposed sideways to the glare of Our Missis's eye--you ask a
Boy so sitiwated, next time you stop in a hurry at Mugby, for anything
to drink; you take particular notice that he'll try to seem not to hear
you, that he'll appear in a absent manner to survey the Line through a
transparent medium composed of your head and body, and that he won't
serve you as long as you can possibly bear it. That's me.

What a lark it is! We are the Model Establishment, we are, at Mugby.
Other Refreshment Rooms send their imperfect young ladies up to be
finished off by our Missis. For some of the young ladies, when they're
new to the business, come into it mild! Ah! Our Missis, she soon takes
that out of 'em. Why, I originally come into the business meek myself.
But Our Missis, she soon took that out of _me_.

What a delightful lark it is! I look upon us Refreshmenters as ockipying
the only proudly independent footing on the Line. There's Papers, for
instance,--my honorable friend, if he will allow me to call him so,--him
as belongs to Smith's bookstall. Why, he no more dares to be up to our
Refreshmenting games than he dares to jump atop of a locomotive with her
steam at full pressure, and cut away upon her alone, driving himself, at
limited-mail speed. Papers, he'd get his head punched at every
compartment, first, second, and third, the whole length of a train, if
he was to ventur' to imitate my demeanor. It's the same with the
porters, the same with the guards, the same with the ticket clerks, the
same the whole way up to the secretary, traffic manager, or very
chairman. There ain't a one among 'em on the nobly independent footing
we are. Did you ever catch one of _them_, when you wanted anything of
him, making a system of surveying the Line through a transparent medium
composed of your head and body? I should hope not.

You should see our Bandolining Room at Mugby Junction. It's led to by
the door behind the counter, which you'll notice usually stands ajar,
and it's the room where Our Missis and our young ladies Bandolines their
hair. You should see 'em at it, betwixt trains, Bandolining away, as if
they was anointing themselves for the combat. When you're telegraphed
you should see their noses all a-going up with scorn, as if it was a
part of the working of the same Cooke and Wheatstone electrical
machinery. You should hear Our Missis give the word, "Here comes the
Beast to be Fed!" a