You have heard from Ruth of all the wonderful things that have
happened to us, and that we are going abroad. But you have not heard
that we are planning a motor trip. If you say that you are
surprised, knowing that I have no motor, I can only reply, "Not more
so than I." I had supposed Ruth would be content to go to Europe as
most of our friends have gone. But no; she said a motor trip would
be far more interesting. I was rather surprised for another reason:
Ruth is so careful of the household expenses that when I suggested
that motoring was a rather expensive amusement, she said it depended
entirely upon how it was done! We could buy a cheap car and dispense
with the services of a chauffeur. In that way it would prove less
expensive than travelling by train. "Think," said she, "what we
should save on baggage! and besides, instead of stopping at expensive
hotels in the large towns, we can put up at any little inn.
Moreover, we can take a lunch-basket and stop by the way at any place
that takes our fancy and eat our lunch."
I had memories of hearing something of the same sort the first time I
went abroad--on a cattle steamer. I was told by a fellow traveller
that one could make a walking trip on the Continent for five francs a
day! However, when I thought of Ruth's uncomplaining economies these
many years, I said it was a fine idea. I did, however, point out
that I knew rather less about a motor than I do about a camel, but
that objection also was quickly disposed of. "Did not James Hawkins
drive his car? And had I not said, when he preached for us last Lent
that he had the brain of a flea? If he could learn to drive a car
could not the man, who, the bishop said, etc.?"
Well, the result was I entered the School of Instruction conducted by
"Professor" Patrick Quinn. I wish now I had gone to the Y.M.C.A.,
for the instruction would, no doubt, have been as good, and the
atmosphere more refined! Last winter I heard a paper read at a
clerical meeting by an optimist on "The Decline of Profanity." The
writer could never have been in a garage! However, "Prof" Quinn knew
his business, and cursed a little of his knowledge into me. There
were times when we were both discouraged, as on the day when he
pathetically told me that I should learn quicker if I wasn't so "damn
awkward." But in spite of this drawback the time at last came when
my "Boss" announced that on the following day he would take me out on
the road. So the next day the "Professor" drove to Jerome Avenue,
and then turned the car over to me.
Do you know how many posts there are on that trolley line? You do
not! No one does who has not driven a car in and out among them.
Probably you suppose them to be stationary. That is what I thought.
But they move like Birnam wood!
Well, when my nerves were all on edge with trying to dodge the posts,
I was ordered to pass a car just ahead of me. This I did
triumphantly, and cut in ahead. Unfortunately, at that moment its
speed must suddenly have increased, for the rear hub of our car
nicked a piece out of the front tire of the other car. What the
driver of that car said I decline to repeat. It is not well you
should know such things! But I am now sure that the clerical
essayist already alluded to knows more about Pelagianism than he does
of the vernacular of New York. I confess I had a momentary unholy
hope that my "Boss" would answer him in a way it would be sinful for
me to imitate, but instead he asked me if I had a "pull" with the
police. When I replied I had not he sarcastically remarked that he
supposed I must have, seeing how hard I was trying to "get run in."
A few minutes later he directed me to run up to the Concourse. You
may remember there is a sharp rise from Jerome Avenue, so thinking he
wished to find out if I remembered his lecture "On the Art of
Driving," in which he had emphasized the importance of "giving her
gas" at the foot of a hill, and then "watch her pick up," I gave her
gas and watched her pick up. Indeed the speed soon became alarming.
At the top of the hill there is a sharp turn into the Concourse
leading onto a bridge which spans the road on which a trolley line
passes beneath. Onto this bridge, then, we whirled, the hub of the
off rear wheel striking the corner of the buttress of the bridge and
slewing us half-way round, so that the car was now headed toward the
frail railing which marks rather than guards the roadway. I was
still "giving her gas"--not knowing longer what I was doing--and have
no doubt but that in another second we should have plunged below, had
not the man wrenched the wheel from my hands and straightened the car
out.
I was fully prepared for profanity but not for the wailing prayer
which issued from his frightened lips. I call it a prayer, for such
it was in form, though the bitterness of his tone made it more
dreadful than any oath. This is what he said: "O my G--d, if ever I
live to get home, I'll never do anything riskier than drivin' in a
Vanderbilt Cup race." After this we changed places by mutual consent.
It is surprising what a difference the road-bed makes in the running
of a car! At least I suppose it was due to that, for on Jerome
Avenue the car had run now fast now slow, while here it glided along
the road as smoothly as a shell goes through the water when driven by
the steady sweep of the oars. Can the driver have anything to do
with it? I did not dare to ask the "Boss," for it was evident that
he was "mad at me." Another thing surprised me. Again and again he
refused perfectly good chances to cut in ahead of another car,
instead of which he would drop back and wait until there was plenty
of room, and then run alongside of his rival until he could easily
take the lead. I found, however, that this timid policy, as I was
inclined to call it, was really Fabian, for we passed each car in
turn. Moreover, he did not seem to regard the drivers of other cars
as his natural enemies, as seemed to me inevitable, but, on the
contrary, spoke pleasantly to several and called not a few "brother."
But when I asked him if all the family was in the business, he
gruffly requested me "not to kid him." Indeed, it was evident that
he had ceased swearing at me because he regarded me as hopeless. I
therefore decided not to return to the school, even though I failed
to receive the diploma which, he had assured me at my entrance, would
insure me a first-class job.