The Cannibalism in the Cars by Mark Twain

Red by Mike Bennett. I visited St. Louis lately and on my way west after changing cars at Terra Holt, Indiana,

a mild, benevolent-looking gentleman of about 45 or maybe 50, came in at

one of the way stations and sat down beside me.

We talked together pleasantly on various subjects for an hour perhaps, and I found

him exceedingly intelligent and entertaining.

When he learned that I was from Washington, he immediately began to ask questions about various public men and about

congressional affairs and I saw very shortly that I was conversing with a man who was

perfectly familiar with the ins and outs of political life at the Capitol,

even to the ways and manners and customs of procedure of senators and representatives in the chambers of the National Legislature.

Presently, two men halted nearest for a single moment, and one of them said to the other.

Aris, if you'll do that for me I'll never forget you my boy

my new comrades I lighted pleasantly the words had touched upon a happy memory, I thought. Then his face settled into

thoughtfulness, almost into gloom. He turned to me and said,

Let me tell you a story.

Let me give you a secret chapter of my life,

a chapter that has never been referred to by me since its events transpired. Listen patiently and promise that you will not interrupt

me." I said I would not, and he related the following strange adventure, speaking sometimes with animation, sometimes with

melancholy but always with feeling and earnestness.

On the 19th of December, 1853, I started from St Louis on the evening train bound for Chicago.

There were only 24 passengers all told. There were no ladies and no children. We were in excellent

spirits and pleasant acquaintance ships were soon formed. The journey bade fair to be a happy one, and no individual

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