little red C., B. & Q. railway station. If pretty is as pretty does,
as we have been told so unpleasantly often, then the station is
handsome enough, but as an ornament to the commonwealth it is a dismal
failure,--low, smoky and dust-grimed. In winter its bleakness and
bareness add to the chill of the rigorous Iowa temperature, and in
summer the sap oozing through the boards is disagreeably suggestive of
perspiration. The waiting-room itself is "cleaned" every day, and yet
the same dust lies in the corners where it has lain for lo, these many
years. And as for the cobwebs, their chief distinction lies in their
ripe old age. If there were only seven spiders in the ark, after the
subsiding of the waters, at least a majority of them must have found
their way to Mount Mark station in South-eastern Iowa.

Mount Mark is anything but proud of the little station. It openly
scoffs at it, and sniffs contemptuously at the ticket agent who bears
the entire C., B. & Q. reputation upon his humble shoulders. At the
same time, it certainly does owe the railroad and the state a debt of
gratitude for its presence there. It is the favorite social rendezvous
for the community! Only four passenger trains daily pass through Mount
Mark,--not including the expresses, which rush haughtily by with no
more than a scornful whistle for the sleepy town, and in return for
this indignity, Mount Mark cherishes a most unchristian antipathy
toward those demon fliers.

But the "passengers"--ah, that is a different matter. The arrival of a
passenger train in Mount Mark is an event--something in the nature of a
C., B. & Q. "At Home," and is always attended by a large and
enthusiastic gathering of "our best people." All that is lacking are
the proverbial "light refreshments!"