Out of the Scrap Heap.

Stories For Which Our Contemporaries Vouch -
They Are Good Enough to be True and We Hope for the Best.


Applicant for a Job Willing to Drink With the Boss,
But Not So Early in the Morning.

IN a Western town not long ago the superintendent of a railroad was seated in his office, when in walked a big, burly negro, according to the Buffalo Times. The superintendent looked up and said:

"How did you get in here, past my office-boy and clerks? You have a lot of assurance, coming in here without first sending in your name."

The negro replied that there was no one in the outer office when he entered.

"I am looking for work," he said, "and want it bad; am willing to go switching, or do anything."

The superintendent said: "Do you drink?"

The negro replied: "It is a little early, isn't it?"


John Martin, the Bugler
Who Carried Custer's Appeal for Help to Reno,
Now a Ticket-Chopper.

IN the New York Subway station at One Hundred and Third Street the one member of Custer's troop who came alive out of the massacre in the Little Big Horn Valley is employed as a ticket-chopper. For thirty years John Martin served in the regular army, entering the Seventh Cavalry in 1874 and leaving it a sergeant in 1904.

At the time of the massacre Martin was a bugler. Outnumbered by Sitting Bull's men, Custer saw that he would need help. "Ride to Major Reno," he ordered the bugler, "and tell him to bring up his men at once!"

Martin reached Reno's command, some three miles away, in safety, and the major started at once to relieve his chief. But there were hostiles in front of them, and in trying to make a short cut the troopers struck an impassable road, so that it was fifty-five minutes after Martin left Custer before Major Reno brought his men upon the battle-field. The only living thing to be seen was one horse. During the fifty-five minutes Martin had been away Custer and seven hundred men had fallen. Major

Reno was tried by court-martial, and it was chiefly by Martin's testimony that he was triumphantly acquitted.


Two Million Dollars for the Employees
Who Stood By William J. Palmer When He Needed Them.

THE Chicago Record-Herald recently published again the story of the most munificent gift ever made to railway employees, a gift of two million dollars in cash. There were hard times on the Rio Grande Western when William J. Palmer was president of it and owned the control of it as well.

To cap the climax, Palmer learned that a general strike was to come in a few days. A strike meant ruin to the road and to Palmer, and the president went out along the line for a last personal appeal. For three days he argued the case with the men, saying frankly that there was no money for increased salaries. Their only chance was to wait until the road had survived the crisis.

The president won out. The men liked him, and they voted to stick to "the old man." The Rio Grande Western prospered, the men got their extra pay, and Palmer felt that his troubles were over.

Then came the era of railroad consolidation. Gould wanted the road and was willing to pay for it. When the deal was closed Palmer had five million dollars for his share - the result of the loyalty of his men, as he looked at it, a few years before. Of that five million dollars he kept - three millions; the rest was divided among the employees who had stuck to him in the lean years, according to the responsibility of their positions. There were section men and inferior operating men who got five thousand dollars and seven thousand dollars, and the man who then held the position of traffic manager received twenty-five thousand dollars. The old employees of the Rio Grande Western were the wealthiest lot of railroad men in the United States.


Probably this Railroad President Would Have Expected
His Cook to Make Codfish Balls Out of Fish~Plates.

RAILROAD presidents have not always been men thoroughly familiar with the practical side of railroading. In a recent issue of the Saturday Evening Post Frank S. Bishop, the general Eastern passenger agent of the Illinois Central, told of the first inspection trip of a newly elected lawyer-president of that road.

The roadbed was in a frightful condition, Mr. Bishop said, and as the train began to jump about the new president became alarmed. After one particularly terrifying crash, as the train passed over a switch, he gasped:

"What was that? What was that?"

"Oh, nothing," said the superintendent. "We just struck a frog."

"Well," sighed the president, "we certainly killed it."


If This is True, It's Remarkable,
But the Story is a Mighty Good One in Any Event.

THE other night a passenger-train on the Southern Pacific was halted west of San Antonio with a suddenness that was startling to all aboard. Investigation proved that the trouble was rabbits, plain jack-rabbits. The long-eared creatures had crowded upon the tracks and were so dazed by the engine light that they permitted themselves to be killed by hundreds, their bodies actuallv impeding the progress of the train.

It is explained that because of the unusual dryness of this particular region of Texas the rabbits are drawn to the railway lines in search of food at night. They come by thousands, and have made themselves not only a nuisance but a menace.

The idea that a heavy railway train can be held up by jack-rabbits seems a little preposterous, and yet that is just the sort of impedimetit that is annoying the engineers on the Southern Pacific. In Kansas the grasshoppers have halted trains on numerous occasions, and locusts have been equally successful in delaying traffic.

This is a great country, a country of many singular possibilities, and its greatness is shown by its unexpected emergencies as well as by the steady tread of its anticipated progress. - Cleveland Plain-Dealer.


A Wildcat Which Received a Practical and Lasting Lesson
on the Effects of the Electrical Current.

A WILDCAT, or mountain-lion, recently climbed an electric-power pole on an Idaho ranch on the Big Hole River. The moment it touched the wires two thousand volts of electricity went through the animal and set fire to the pole. The linemen who were sent out to investigate, says the Anaconda Standard, found the tail and the feet of the mountain-lion at the top of the pole and the rest of the body at the bottom.


What the Fireman, Turned Farmer, Said
When His Mules Ran the Plow Into a Stump.

THE tenacity with which retired sailors cling to their old sea habits and language is well known, but it appears that in this respect they are rivaled by railroad men. A brakeman who had given up railroading for farming, says the Atchison Globe, started to break up a piece of land with a plow and a team of mules, the reins lied farmer-fashion around his waist. He had gone but a short distance when he saw a stump ahead and immediately began giving the railroad "stop" signal with both hands. The plow struck the stump and the brakeman went head first over the plow.

Picking himself up, he ran angrily to the mules and roared: "You flop-eared scoundrels, don't you ever look back for a signal?"

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