f the
Governor (an Englishman, of course) of British North Borneo. But the
railroad is the chief feature of Jesselton. To be sure it is only a
narrow gauge, but it carries people, if they are not in too big a hurry,
and freight. The engines are of English type but the cars
are--original, surely. There are first and third class passenger
coaches, no second class, to say nothing of a baggage "van." The third
class cars have simply a rough wooden bench along each side and seat
about twenty people. The first class cars are of two types: the first is
like the third class with the addition of cushions to the seats and
curtains to the windows; the second kind is a sort of Pullman car; it is
of the same size, but instead of the benches it has about half a dozen
wicker chairs that may be moved about at will.

[Illustration: MORO SHACKS AT KUDAT.

In one of these a phonograph was heard.]

Having a few hours to spare I decided to take a ride into the country. I
had already climbed one of the hills where I could get a view inland to
Kini Balu, over miles of jungle where no white man has ever been. But I
wanted to see a little of this country, from the car-window at least. So
I entered the station and interviewed the station master, a portly
official of great dignity. He told me, in fair English, that the train
on the "main line" had left for that day but that I could take a "local"
out into the country for about three miles. This was better than
nothing, so I climbed (and climb is the proper word) aboard the first
class car of the local that was soon to start. I was the only
first-class passenger and I felt like a railroad president in his
private car. Soon after starting the conductor entered. He was a tall
and, of course, dignified East Indian in turban and khaki uniform. He
had the punch without which no conductor would be complete, and,
suspended from a strap over his shoulder, was a huge canvas bag, like a
mail bag, the purpose of which puzzled me. The fare, he told me, was
fifteen cents to the end of the line; on giving him a twenty-cent piece
I found the purpose of the canvas bag; it was his money bag, and he
carefully fished from its depths my five cents change. The Borneo
pennies are about as big as cart wheels so this bag was not so out of
proportion as it might seem. In exchange for my fare he gave me a ticket
marked "fifteen cents," which he gravely punched. I did not know what
the ticket was for as I thought there w