THE SALT CITY
With a toot of the whistle, a squeak of the wheels and a sharp hissing, as the air brakes were released, the train started. The journey was uneventful, no delays or accidents occurring to mar it. About eleven o'clock the porter made up Roger's berth, and, though the boy wondered at the novelty of a bed on what looked much like a shelf, he soon fell asleep, and did not wake up until the sun was a half hour high, which time found him within a few miles of Syracuse.
The colored porter, grinning expansively and good naturedly, for he had been well remembered by Mr. Anderson, brought Roger a steaming hot cup of coffee, which was most agreeable.
"What time do we get in?" asked the boy traveller as he sipped the beverage.
"We'd ought a' be in at 7.42," replied the colored man, "but we's a leetle late this mornin', sah. Probably we'll arrive 'bout eight o'clock. Feelin' purty peart this mornin', sah?"
"Yes, I do feel pretty good," replied Roger, who really did seem
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