The Three Traveling Bags
There were three of them, all of shining black, one on top of the pile of trunks, one on the ground and one in the owner’s hand, all going to Philadelphia, all waiting to be checked.
The last bell rang. The baggage man bustled, fuming from one pile of baggage to another, dispensing chalk to trunks, checks to passengers, and curses to porters in approved railway style.
“Mine—Philadelphia,” cried a stout military looking man with enormous whiskers and a red face, crowding forward as the baggage man laid his hand on the traveling bag.
“Won’t you please give me a check… Read More