caboose I'm in
slides over the bank, turns over on her side and dies, lower six at the
bottom. I get handed the following--one suitcase, two pairs of shoes and
a fat hardware salesman from upper five. Not forgetting my womanly
rights I turn loose a rebel yell and start to climb out of the opposite
window with the kind assistance of the arm of the berth, the face of the
fat salesman and a broken window, appearing as the Pink Pajama Girl on
the side of the car that was at that time understudying the roof.

"When I got out I turned loose a couple more whoops on the clear morning
air just to let them know that I was still on the job, and took a casual
survey of the disaster. Naturally our car was the goat and the only one
that had gone wrong. The fat salesman does the appearing act next,
dragging his suitcase; waived formality and asked me if I would have a
drink. Me for the drink, and then I got him to climb back down and
rescue the rest of my apparel, and I dressed standing up there on the
side of the car, much to the edification of the train crew that were not
busily engaged in assuring the other dames in the car that they were not
dead. By and by along comes another train, and they load us all in and
we get to Chicago only about four hours late. Me being that fatigued I
rushed right up to the Sherman House, but there wasn't a room vacant on
the top floor, so I knew I would not feel at home there, so I go
capering over to the Annex.

"Gee, but that Chicago is a bum town, and yet in Emporia they look upon
it as a Mecca of pleasure. The only pleasure I ever got there was trying
to analyze the smells from the stock yards. They don't eat anything in
Chicago but chop suey. Did you ever shoot any of that junk into your
system? Them can have it that likes it; but never again for muh. You get
it in a little dish, and the blooming stuff smells as if it was some
relation to a poultice; you eat it and then go home and chew all the
enamel off the bed. No, I don't know what it is made of; if I did I
wouldn't eat it. That's the only thing Chicago is good for, chop suey
and smells. When they get through talking about the World's Fair perhaps
they will think up some new form of amusement. I met a wop in Chicago,
one of these real romantic kind that only grow there. I was seated in a
secluded corner of the ladies' waiting room of the Annex, and he came up
and asked me if I didn't want to step in the Pompeian room and hear the
waters of