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“In a very pleasant tone she introduced herself as Mrs. Kate Warne, stating that she was a widow, and that she had come to inquire whether I would not employ her as a detective,” Allan Pinkerton wrote, in “The Expressman and the Detective,” one of his many memoirs.

It was an expressman with the largest box Mr. Popper had ever seen.

Late one evening the expressman delivered a sack at the rear door, with a note from a friend in the city, stating that the writer, well knowing our liking for thoroughbred stock, had sent over one of the choicest game-chickens in San Francisco.

“Guess I’d better take the ‘Round About’ with all that heavy baggage of yours, Mr. Schwarmer,” said Captain Dan Solomon, the expressman at the station.

Although the young Pony Expressman was late at the next station, the fact that he had brought in a robber and had saved his mail pouch was quite sufficient excuse for the delay of the mail that day.