Stopping at the first seat, where a middle-aged lady was sitting alone, the pop corn man passed out his basket and said, “fresh pop corn.”  The lady took her foot down off the stove, looked at the man a moment with eyes glaring and wild, and said, “It is—­no, it cannot be—­and yet it is me long lost Duke of Oshkosh,” and she grabbed the old man by the necktie with one hand and pulled him down into the seat, and began to mow away corn into her mouth.  The pop corn man blushed, looked at the rest of the passengers to see if they were looking, and said, as he replaced the necktie knot from under his left ear and pushed his collar down, “Madame, you are mistaken.  I never have been a duke in Oshkosh.  I live here at the Junction.”  The woman looked at him as though she doubted his statement, but let him go.

He proceeded to the next seat, when a serious looking man rose up and bowed; the pop corn man also bowed and smiled as though he might have met him before.  Taking a paper of popcorn and putting it in his coat tail pocket, the serious man said, “I was honestly elected President of the United States in 1876, but was counted out by the vilest conspiracy that ever was concocted on earth, and I believe you are one of the conspirators,” and he spit on his hands and looked the pop corn man in the eye.  The pop corn man said he never took any active part in politics, and had nothing to do with that Hayes business at all.  Then the serious man sat down and began eating the pop corn, while two women on the other side of the car helped themselves to the corn in the basket.

[Illustration:  Me long lost duke.]

The pop corn man held out his hand for the money, when a man two seats back came forward and shook hands with him, saying:  “They told me you would not come, but you have come, Daniel, and now we will fight it out.  I will take this razor, and you can arm yourself at your leisure.”  The man reached into an inside pocket of his coat, evidently for a razor, when the pop corn man started for the door, his eyes sticking out two inches.  Every person he passed took a paper of pop corn, one man grabbed his coat and tore one tail off, another took his basket away and as he rushed out on the platform the basket was thrown at his head, and a female voice said, “I will be ready when the carriage calls at 8.”

As the old gentleman struck the platform and began to arrange his toilet he met Fitzgerald, the conductor, who asked him what was the matter.  He said Pierce told him that crowd was going to the legislature, “but,” says he, as he picked some pieces of paper collar out of the back of his neck, “if those people are not delegates to a Democratic convention, then I have been peddling pop corn on this road ten years for nothing, and don’t know my business.”  Fitz told him they were patients going to the Insane Asylum.

The old man thought it over a moment, and then he picked up a coupling pin and went looking for Pierce.  He says he will kill him.  Pierce has not been out of the house since.  This Pierce is the same man that lent us a runaway horse once.