on’y on signal.  Fin’lly they’re off.  Th’ dust an’ worry iv th’ city with its sprinkled pavements an’ its glowin’ theaytres is left behind.  Th’ cool counthry air blows into th’ car laden with th’ rich perfume iv dainty food with which th’ fireman is plyin’ his ir’n horse.  Th’ thrain stops occasion’lly.  In fact ye might betther say that occasion’lly it don’t stop.  A thrain that is goin’ to anny iv th’ penal colonies where most men spind their vacations will stop at more places thin a boy on an errand.  Whiniver it sees a human habitation it will pause an’ exchange a few wurruds iv pleasant greetin’.  It will stop at annything.  It wud stop at nawthin’.

“In this way ye get a good idee iv th’ jography iv ye’er native land.  Ye make a ten minyit stay at bustlin’ little villages that ye didn’t know were on th’ map, an’ ain’t on anny map that ye buy.  Th’ on’y place th’ thrain don’t stop is at Mudville-be-th’-Cannery.  Ye look into th’ folder an’ see ye’er town marked ‘see note b.’  Note b says:  ’Thrains two to sixteen stop at Mudville on’y whin wrecked.’  ‘What is th’ number iv this here cannon-ball express?’ says ye to th’ conductor man.  ’Number twelve,’ says he.  ‘How am I goin’ to get off there?’ says ye.  ’How do ye usually get off a movin’ thrain?’ says he.  ‘Forward or backward?’ says he.  ‘If ye’ll go ahead to th’ postal car an’ get into a mail bag th’ clerk may hang ye on th’ hook as we pass.  He’s a good shot.  He made three out iv tin last week,’ he says.

“But in due time ye reach ye’er destynation an’ onpack ye’er thrunks an’ come home again.  A frind iv mine, a prom’nent railroad officyal who calls th’ thrains at th’ Union deepo, tells me he’s cured his wife iv wantin’ to go on a vacation.  Whiniver he sees her readin’ advertisements iv th’ summer resorts he knows that th’ fit is coming on, an’ befure she gets to th’ stage iv buyin’ a cure f’r freckles he takes her down to th’ deepo an’ shows her th’ people goin’ on their vacations an’ comin’ back.  Thin he gives her a boat ride in th’ park, takes her to th’ theaytre, an’ th’ next mornin’ she wakes up with hardly anny sign iv her indisposition.

“But th’ kind iv vacation I take does ye some good.  It is well within me means.  In fact it sildom costs me annything but now an’ thin th’ thrade iv a customer that I give a bottle iv pop to whin he ast f’r a gin sour, not knowin’ that at th’ minyit I was whilin’ me time away in th’ Greek islands or climbin’ Mount Vesoovyous.  I don’t have to carry anny baggage.  I don’t pay anny railroad fares.  I’m not bothered be mosquitoes or rain.  In fact, it’s on rainy days that I thravel most.  I’m away most iv th’ time.  I suppose me business suffers.  But what care I?