“He’s down in Washington, attendin’ th’ session o’ some kind uv an investigatin’ committee,” replied the office boy.

“Where is the general manager?”

“He’s appearin’ before th’ Interstate Commerce Commission.”

“Well, where’s the general superintendent?”

“He’s at th’ meetin” of th’ legislature, fightin’ some bum new law.”

“Where is the head of the legal department?”

“He’s in court, tryin’ a suit.”

“Then where is the general passenger agent?”

“He’s explainin’ t’ th’ commercial travelers why we can’t reduce th’ fare.”

“Where is the general freight agent?”

“He’s gone out in th’ country t’ attend a meeting o’ th’ grange an’ tell th’ farmers why we ain’t got no freight-cars.”

“Who’s running the blame railroad, anyway?”

“The newspapers and th’ legislatures.”

An old Cornish woman who had never before traveled by rail went to a country station to catch a train.  She sat herself down on a seat in the station, and after sitting there for about two hours, the station-master came up to her and asked where she was going.  On her telling him, he said: 

“Why, my good woman, the train has just gone, and there isn’t another for a long time!”

“Why, lor’!” says the old lady, “I thought the whole consarn moved!”

“What good,” asked the angry would-be passenger, “are the figures set down in these railway time-tables?”

“Why,” patiently explained the genial agent, “if it weren’t for them figures we’d have no way of findin’ out how late the train is.”

The American in the first-class carriage of an English train insisted on smoking.  An angry Englishman protested, and when about to appeal to the guard the American got ahead of him with the remark:  “Guard, I think you will find that that gentleman is traveling with a third-class ticket on him.”

It proved to be true, and the sputtering Britisher was put out.

A spectator of the incident asked the American how he knew about the ticket.

“Well,” explained the composed stranger, “it was sticking out of his pocket and I noticed that it was the same color as mine.”

A new railroad through Louisiana strikes some of the towns about a mile from the business center, so it is necessary to run a bus line.  A salesman stopping in one of the towns asked the old darky bus driver about it: 

“Say, uncle, why have they got the depot way down here?”

After a moment’s hesitation the old darky replied:  “Ah dunno, boss, unless dey wanted to git it on de railroad.”

Picking her way daintily through the locomotive plant, a young woman visitor viewed the huge operations with awe.  Finally, she turned to a young man who was showing her through, and asked: 

“What is that big thing over there?”

“That’s a locomotive-boiler,” he replied.  She puckered her brows.