Skiddoo! | Page 2

the smoke for him.
He simply sits there with a face like a fish and keeps George Nicotine
and all the real rag burners from enjoying a smoke.
If ever a statue is needed of the patriot Buttinski I would suggest a
model in the person of the smokeless smoker who always travels in the
smoking-car.

Two busy gazabes were discussing politics when I squeezed into the
smoker on this particular occasion, and I judge they both had lower
berths, otherwise their minds would have been busy with dark and
personal fears of the future.
"Well," exclaimed the gabby one from Kansas City, "what is politics?
Well, what is it?"
"Politics," replied Wise Willie from Providence, "politics is where we
get it--sometimes in the bank, sometimes in the neck!"
Everybody present peeled the cover off a loud laugh and the smokeless
hog at the window stole four inches extra space so that he could shake
more when he giggled.
"Well," resumed the inquisitive person from Kansas City, "what is a
politician? Do you know? Eh, well, what is a politician?"
"A politician," replied the fat man from Providence, "a politician is the
reason we have so much politics."
Much applause left the hands of those present, and the smokeless hog
turned sideways so that he could make the others more uncomfortable.
"Perhaps," insinuated gabby Jim from Kansas City, "perhaps you know
what a statesman is, eh?"
"A statesman is a politician in good luck," was the come-back from our
fat friend from Providence, and in the enthusiasm which followed the
smokeless hog found out there was no buffet car on the train, so he
offered to buy the drinks.
"Don't you believe that all men are born equal?" inquired the Kansas
Cityite.
"Yes, but some of them have pull enough to get over it," responded the
Providence philosopher, whereupon the smokeless hog by the window
took out a flask and began to dampen his conscience.

Just then the towel rack fell with a crash, and after I picked up the
comb and the brush and myself I decided to retire to my bracket on the
wall and try to sleep.
When I left the smoker the smokeless hog was occupying two and a
half seats and was now busy breathing in some second-hand cigarette
smoke which nobody seemed to care for.
"How do I reach my Alpine bungalow?" I said to the porter, whereupon
he laughed teethfully and hit me on the shins with a step-ladder.
The spectacular gent who occupied the star chamber beneath my garret
was sleeping as noisily as possible, and when I started up the
step-ladder he began to render Mendelssohn's obligato for the trombone
in the key of G.
Above the roar of the train from away off in lower No. 2 faintly I could
hear an answering bugle call.
I climbed up prepared for the worst and in the twinkling of an eye the
porter removed the stepladder and there I was, sitting on the perilous
edge of my pantry shelf with nothing to comfort me save the exhaust of
a professional snorer.
After about five minutes devoted to a parade of all my sins I began to
try to extract my personality from my coat, but when I pushed my arm
up in the air to get the sleeve loose my knuckles struck the hard-wood
finish and I fell backward on the cast-iron pillow, breathing hoarsely
like a busy jack rabbit.
I waited about ten minutes while my brain was bobbing back and forth
with the excitement of running fifty miles an hour over a careless part
of the country, and then I cautiously tried to approach my shoe laces.
Say! if you're a man and you weigh in the neighborhood of 225 pounds,
most of which is in the region of the equator, you will appreciate what
it means to lie on your back in an upper berth and try to get your shoes
off.

And this goes double for the man who weighs more than 225 pounds.
Every time I reached for my feet to get my shoes off I bumped my head
off, and the more I bumped my head off the less I got my shoes off, and
the less I got my shoes off the more I seemed to bump my head off, so I
decided that in order to keep my head on I had better keep my shoes on
also.
Then I tried to divorce my suspenders from my shoulders, but just as I
got the suspenders half way over my head I struck my crazy bone on
the rafters, and there I was, suspendered between Heaven and earth, but
praying with all my heart for a bottle of arnica.
Then I decided to sleep as nature made me,