Everything was just as usual. I caught my tram at the corner of the street.
It was the six o'clock car--I noticed the usual evening crowd, and they
were all as bored and cross and frigid as usual.
The old gentleman of the whiskers was, as usual, reading his evening paper.
He looked personally affronted as I sat down beside him. The elderly
relative--as I call her--was opposite to me. She had her small attaché-case
and her knitting as usual, and she made me feel at a glance that my face
bored her intolerably. For the rest, I saw the fat paterfamilias, the
wish-I-had-a-motor lady, the pert flapper and all the crew who travel with
dejected spirits to and fro on our suburban line.
So far all was in order. Then the conductress came round.
"Tuppenny," I murmured. "Albemarle Road."
"What's your town?" she asked, taking a pencil from behind her ear.
"Town? It's Albemarle Road I want."
"But what town do you choose for Post?" she asked. "You've all got to have
a town, you know. Don't make it too long. Hurry up! I've got to write you
all down, and it's time to begin."
"Pontresina," I gasped wildly. That seemed to be the only town I had ever
heard of.
"And you, Sir?" she was asking the old gentleman.
"Macclesfield," he said very decidedly.
The elderly relative was fidgeting to say hers. I could have guessed it
would be St. Ives.
The conductress made her way from one end to the other.
"All got towns?" she asked. "You, Sir? Pernambuco? I do wish you'd stick to
English names. Are you all ready?"
She rang the bell.
"Now," she said, "the gentleman on the stool has to catch. The Post is
going from Paris to Pontresina."
I rose and looked wildly down the car. The flapper was beckoning slightly.
Her contemptuous boredom had vanished, and she looked a merry child again.
I rushed, stumbled, rocked into her place; she sank with a gasp into mine.
"York to St. Ives!"
It was the paterfamilias who was up now, and the elderly relative was
signing to him. In a breathless scurry she was in his place gasping beside
me. For the first time in her life she spoke to me.
"What an escape!" she said. "There, _he'_s caught--York, I mean. I don't
know his proper name. It's odd, isn't it, we know each other's faces so
well and yet we don't know each other's names. Now that we have towns for
names, it will be far more friendly, won't it? I always called you Cicero
to myself. Oh, I hardly know why--you looked a little satirical sometimes.
But now you're Pontresina, of course."
"Macclesfield to Pernambuco!"
"There!" laughed my companion. "I knew Macclesfield would be caught--he's
so stately, isn't he? But look how he's laughing. Do you know I never
thought any of the people in this car _could_ laugh, or even smile. I do
think this Society for the Abolition of Boredom in Public Conveyances is an
excellent thing, don't you?"
"Pontresina to St. Ives!"
Breathlessly we changed places; her black hat was a little crooked, but she
only laughed.
"I've lost my knitting, too," she said, "but I don't mind. This exercise
keeps one so warm these cold days."
The game was in wild progress; the car rocked and jolted and the
conductress shouted the names.
"General Post!" she called. "Those inside change places with those
outside."
That was the most breathlessly exciting moment of the whole game. There was
a solid struggling mass of humanity on the tram staircase. Those without
were pushing frantically to come down; we were shoving to get up.
The lady called St. Ives was thumping my shoulders.
"Climb up the railing," she said.
Somehow I did it, and leaned down to catch her hands and drag her upwards.
We launched ourselves breathlessly on to the furthest seat.
Stout old Macclesfield was the next. He had lost his hat and his white hair
was ruffled.
"I'm here," he said. "Macclesfield for ever!"
The flapper had scrambled up the front staircase against the rules. She
cast herself down beside Macclesfield.
"Here I am, old dear," she exclaimed. "I left York simply _jammed_ in the
wedge. Oh, isn't it fun? I never laughed so much. We never _can_ be serious
with each other after this, can we?"
St. Ives nodded.
"I'll never forget Pontresina climbing the rail," she said. "I used to
think him so haughty; now--"
"Albemarle Road--don't you want Albemarle Road?" the conductress was asking
me. She spoke very loudly.
"Pontresina--I'm Pontresina," I answered.
"This is Albemarle Road. If you're going on it'll be another penny," she
insisted.