A SLOW COACH
Reading edition
In the early days of railroading in this country, an elderly gentleman was asked by the conductor for his ticket. The train had stopped at every little station, town and hamlet on the way, and was two hours late. “Your ticket, please,” said the conductor. The man fumbled a great while in his vest pocket and finally presented a half-fare cardboard.
“Come,” said the conductor, “this won’t do, not for a man with hair as gray as yours, any way—this is a child’s ticket.”
“Well,” responded the weary traveller, “I was a child when this train started, and I guess I’ll be as old as Methusaleh by the time it gets me to where I want to go.”