On one of the famous scenic routes of the west there is a brakeman who has lost the forefinger of his right hand.
His present assignment as rear-end brakeman on a passenger train places him in the observation car, where he is the target for an almost unceasing fusillade of questions from tourists who insist upon having the name, and, if possible, the history, of all the mountain caņons and points of interest along the route.
One especially enthusiastic lady tourist had kept up her Gattling fire of questions until she had thoroughly mastered the geography of the country. Then she ventured to ask the brakeman how he had lost his finger:
"Cut off in making a coupling between cars, I suppose?"
"No, madam; I wore that finger off pointing out scenery to tourists."
