And then he crept back to bed again.

. . . .

We start at seven the next morning for Panama.

My native comes bright and early to transport my carpet sack to the
railway station. His clothes have suffered still more during the
night, for he comes to me now dressed only in a small rag and one
boot.

At last we are off. "Adios, Americanos!" the natives cry; to which
I pleasantly reply, "ADOUS! and long may it be before you have a
chance to Do us again."

The cars are comfortable on the Panama railway, and the country
through which we pass is very beautiful. But it will not do to
trust it much, because it breeds fevers and other unpleasant
disorders, at all seasons of the year. Like a girl we most all
have known, the Isthmus is fair but false.

There are mud huts all along the route, and half-naked savages gaze
patronizingly upon us from their doorways. An elderly lady in
spectacles appears to be much scandalized by the scant dress of
these people, and wants to know why the Select Men don't put a stop
to it. From this, and a remark she incidentally makes about her
son, who has invented a washing machine which will wash, wring, and
dry a shirt in ten minutes, I infer that she is from the hills of
Old New England, like the Hutchinson family.