clerk is called upon to face the dangers of midnight rides twelve months in the year.
I knew one mail clerk intimately, and found him one of the most interesting characters I ever met. The story of his eventful life would be interesting at any time, and ought to be especially apropos here as an illustration of the character of the average railway mail clerk, and of the dangers through which they pass.
The farms in Illinois upon which we were reared were not far apart, but "Doc," who lived with his uncle, left home before he was twenty-one and went West. I had been to town to get the plough sharpened, and on my way home I saw "Doc" climbing across a cloddy field behind a harrow, and he hailed me. When he came out he hung his chin over the top of the fence and said: "I'm goin' West."
"When?"
"To-night."
"No!"
"Yes. Will you jine me?"
"What'll it cost?" I asked.
"Forty-nine dollars, second class, from St. Louis to Denver."
