Mr. Bungletree’s Collapse
by Judge Clark
At the station we had just passed a melancholy-looking youth had entered the car and taken the very limited portion of one of the seats left vacant by the ample proportions of a corpulent passenger next the window, whose general appearance betokened good digestion and a quiet conscience.
“Sorry to discommode you, sir,” said the newcomer, as he edged into the narrow space unoccupied by the fat gentleman.
“Don’t speak of it,” replied the other. “If apology is due it is on my side for taking up more room in the world than is ordinarily allotted to mortals by the laws of nature and the railway regulations.”
“Ticket, sir,” said the conductor.
“I had no time to get one,” the new passenger answered. “What is the fare to the next stopping place!”
“A dollar.”
The young man thrust a hand into his pocket and withdrew it nervously. Then both hands made rapid and repeated searches of all his pockets.
“Good heavens! I have lost my pocketbook!” he exclaimed wildly. “It must have been stolen from me in passing through the crowd to the train.”
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