Why He was Tardy.
Reading edition
Mr. Ruggles of the Michigan Central road tells of a funny dream he had the other night. He had been eating stewed terrapin at Caveroc’s; and when he finally got to sleep, he dreamed that he had died, and was knocking at the jasper gate of heaven.
“Who’s there?” demanded St. Peter.
“O. W. Ruggles of Chicago,” was the reply.
“Let me see,” said St. Peter, looking over his books, “let me see; when did you die?”
“Last week Tuesday,” said Ruggles.
“A week ago!” cried the saint, “seems to me you’ve been a long time on the way.”
“Well, you can’t blame me for it,” protested Mr. Ruggles; “for under the old system, there’d have been no trouble; but this interstate commerce law is seriously interrupting travel.”
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