"Got some money, lads, with which you can square your ride?" inquired
the railroad man, as he raised his lantern higher so he could the better
estimate the fare he could charge his hobo-passengers, who had now risen
and were rubbing their sleep-laden eyes, and then he recognized the
twins, whom he had so often greeted from his passing train, and added:
"Well, I will be danged if you hoboes aren't Widow McDonald's twins,"
and then, after he had questioned them as to their destination, and
while he withdrew his lantern from the door, he finished the
conversation by excusing himself: "It's all right, my lads," he
cheerfully said, "all charges have been settled as we brakemen do not
collect toll from friends. It's the hoboes we are after to make them
'hit the grit'." and with that he was gone.
[Illustration: They were aroused from their slumbers by the bright rays
shed by a lantern held by a brakeman who discovered them in the box
car.]
A few hours later they landed at Grand Forks, N.D., and by keeping close
to their side-door Pullman they had the luck to reach, unmolested, the
outskirts of Minneapolis on the evening of the third day after leaving
their home.
When the freight train slowed up to pull into the railroad yards,
imitating the other hoboes whom they saw diving out of all sorts of
hiding places, they jumped to the ground, scaled the right-of-way fence
and made a bee line for the wonder of all wonders, that they had read,
heard and dreamed so much about--"The City.
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