Rather cold outside here, sir; but of course, if you like riding on the
box best, why it's nothing to me, and I'm glad of your company. Come
on. "Ony a bob's worth, Tommy," says that chap as drove Mr Pickwick,
him as set the old gent and his friends down as spies. The poor chap
must have had a bad day, you see, and got a bit raspy; and I've known
the time as I've felt raspy, too, and ready to say, "Ony a bob's worth,
Tommy." You see ours is a trade as flucterates a wonderful sight, and
the public's got it into their heads as we're always a-going to take 'em
in somehow or other; so jest like that American gal in the story,
"Don't," says Public. "Don't what?" says we. "Don't overcharge," says
Public. "Well, we wasn't a-over-charging," says we. "No, but aint you
going to?" says Public. Puts it into our heads, and makes us charge
extra through being so suspicious. You see we're poor men, but not such
a bad sort, considering. Public servants we are, badged and numbered,
bound to do work by fixed rule and charge, so what I say is that you
should treat us accordingly. "Civil and pleasant," says you--"Civil and
pleasant," says we. "Drawn swords," says you--"Drawn swords," says we.
Peace or war, which you likes, and the Beak for umpire. There's a werry
good sorter clay underneath some of our weskets, if you only takes and
moulds it the right way, when you'll find all go as easy as can be; but
make us ill-tempered and hot, why of course we turns brittle and cracks;
while, you know, if you goes the other way too far, and moistens our
clay too much, why--Well, human natur's only human natur, is it? and of
course the clay gets soft and sticky, and a nuisance. Keep half-way,
you know, and then you're all right, and will find us decent working,
when you moulds us up and brings out a model cabby.
You see you calls them black fellows men and brothers, but I'm blest if
I think some people thinks as we are; for, instead of brothers, they
treat us as if we was werry distant relations indeed, and then sets to
and fights it out with us for every sixpence we earns. Don't believe a
word we say, they don't, and as to thinking we're honest--bless your
heart no, not they! "Oh, they're a bad lot, kebmen," says Mrs John
Bull, and she says as the straw's musty, the lining fusty, and the
seat's dusty, and then grumbles at the horse, and blows up the driver
and flings dirt at him.
"You rascal--you scoundrel! I'll summons you; I'll put you on the
treadmill; I'll have the distance measured; I'll--I'll write to the
_Times_ and have your rascality exposed. Drive me to Bow Street--no to
Great Marlbro' Street--or--there--no, take your fare, but mind I've
taken your number, and I'll introduce the subject in the House this very
night."
"I'll--I'll--I'll," I says to myself. "Nice ile yours 'ud be to grease
the wheels of Life with." And that was Mr MP, that was; for it was
over a mile as he rode. And only think of wanting to put a Hansom
driver off with sixpence. Then, again, I drives a gent to the rail, and
his missus with him, and when he gets out he sorter sneaks a shillin'
into my hand, and then's going to shuffle off, when "Wot's this here
for?" I says.
"Your fare, my man," he says, werry mildly.
"Hayten-pence more," I says.
"Sixpence a mile, my good man," he says, "and Mogg's guide says that--"
"Mogg's guide doesn't say that kebs is to be made carriers' waggons on
for nothing," I says; and then the porters laughed, and he gives me the
difference of the half-crown; and only nat'ral, for I'll tell you what
there was. First there was three boxes--heavy ones--on the roof; two
carpet-bags and a portmanty on the seat aside me; a parrot's cage, a
cap-box, a gun-case, and a whole bundle o' fishing-rods, and umbrellys,
and things on the front seat; and him and his missus on the back. And
arter the loading up and loading down, and what not, I don't think as it
was so werry dear. I sarved him out, though, for I took and bit every
blessed bit o' silver, making believe as I didn't think 'em good, and
stood grumbling there till the porters had got all the things in, and
Master Generous had put hisself outer sight.
You see, sir, it ain't us as has all the queer pints; there's some as I
knows on, if they was brought down to kebbing, 'stead of being swells,
they'd be a jolly sight worse than we.
Didn't know Tom Sizer, I s'pose? No, you wouldn't know him, I dare say.
Out an out driver, he was, poor chap. But what was the use on it to
him? Just because he was clever with the reins, and could do a'most
anything with any old knacker of a 'oss, the guv'nor sets him up the
shabbiest of any man as went outer the yard. There he was, poor chap,
with the wust 'oss and the wust keb, and then being only a seedy-looking
cove hisself, why he turned out werry rough. But that didn't matter;
Tom allus managed to keep upsides with the guv'nor, and was never
behind. Being a quiet sorter driver, yer see, he'd got some old ladies
as was regular customers, and one way and another he made it up. And it
was always the guv'nor's artfulness, you know: he had old 'osses and a
old keb or two, and if he'd sent some men out with 'em they'd ha'
brought back a'most nothing.
A regular sharp, teasing winter came on; rain, and freeze, and blow; and
then our pore old Tom he got dreadful shaky at last, and his cough
teased him awful, so none of us was surprised when we found one day as
he warn't come to the yard; nor we warn't surprised next day when he
didn't come; nor yet when a whole week passed away and his keb stood
under the shed, and his 'oss kep in the stable, for they was such bad
'uns none of our chaps'd have anything to do with 'em; and more'n once I
see the guv'nor stand with his hat half-raised in one hand, and
scratting his head with t'other, as he looked at the old worn keb, as
much as to say, "I shall never make anything outer that any more."
Christmas arternoon comes, and I thinks as I'll go and have a look at
Tom. So I tidies up a bit, puts on a white choker, and ties it
coachman's fashion, and fixes it with a horse-shoe pin, as my missus
give me when we was courting. Then I brushes my hat up, and was just
going off, when the missus says, "Wot d'yer want yer whip for?" she
says. "Wot do I want my whip for?" I says, and then I stops short, and
goes and stands it up in the corner by the drawers, for it didn't seem
nat'ral to go out without one's whip, and it ain't often as we goes out
walking, I can tell you.
Well, I toddles along, and gets to the place at last, where Tommy held
out: tall house it was, just aside Awery Row, and opposite to a mews;
werry pleasant lookout in summer-time, for the coachmen's wives as lived
over the stables was fond of their flowers and birds; but even in winter
time there was allus a bit o' life going on: chaps cleaning first-class
'osses, or washing carriages, or starting off fresh and smart to drive
out shopping or in the park. Fine, clean-legged, stepping 'osses, and
bright warnished carriages and coachmen in livery; and all right up to
the mark, you knew.
So I goes on upstairs, for I knowed the way to his room, along of having
had supper with him one night--mussels and a pot of stout we had--so I
didn't ring three times like a stranger, but walks up one pair, two
pair, three pair stairs, and then I stops short, for the door was ajar,
and I could see a gentleman's back, and hear talking; so I says to
myself, "That's the doctor," I says, and I sets down on the top stair to
get my wind, and then I turns quite chilly to hear poor old Tom's voice,
so altered and pipy I didn't know what to make of it, as he says.
"There, sir, don't stand no more; set down. Not that chair, 'cos the
leg's broke. Try t'other one. Well," he says, "I takes this as werry
kind of you to come and see a poor fellow as is outer sorts and laid
up--laid up! Ah! it's pretty well knacker's cart and Jack Straw's
castle with me. The missus there's been cleaning and a-tidying up, and
doing the best she could; but, in course, with me in it, the bed can't
be turned up, and so the place can't look werry decent. I do take it as
werry kind of a gent like you climbing up three pairs o' stairs o'
purpose to come and see me--it quite cheers me up. Not as I wants for
visitors, for I has the 'spensary doctor, and there's four sorter
journeymen preachers comes a-wherretin' me; till, as soon as I sees one
on 'em coming in all in black, I thinks it's the undertaker hisself.
The doctor came half an hour ago--two hours, was it? ah, well, I've been
asleep, I s'pose; and then time goes. He's left me a lot more physic
and stuff, but I ain't taken it, and I ain't a-going to; for what's the
use o' greasing the keb wheels when the tires is off and the spokes is
all loose and rattling, and a'most ready to tumble out. 'Tain't no use
whatsomever, whether they've been good ones or bad ones. It's all up;
and you may wheel the keb werry gently through the yard under the shed,
and leave it there, and wot odds; there's fresh 'uns a-coming out every
day with all the noo improvements, so what's the use o' troubling about
one as is worn out and out. There ain't no use in trying to patch when
all the woodwork's worm-eaten, while the lining's clean gone; what with
bad usage and bad weather; and, as to the windys, they ain't broke, but
they're grown heavy and dull, and I can't see through 'em; and you'll
soon see the blinds pulled down over 'em, never to come up no more--
never no more!"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Then there come a stoppage, for the pore chap's cough give it him awful,
so as it was terrible to listen, and I'd ha' slipped away, ony I felt as
I should like to have just a word with my poor old mate again.
"There," he says, "I've got my wind again; you see it's up hill, and
this cough shakes a fellow awful. Never mind, though; I hope there's
rest up a-top for even a poor fellow like me; and, do you know," he
says, quite softly, "I begins to want to get there, though it does grit
me to think as I can't take Polly on the box with me; but that's a hard
thing to understand--that about life, and death, and 'ternity--for ever,
and ever, and ever. That's what the youngest parson as comes talks to
me about. Nice fellow he is; I like him, for he seems to want to light
one's lamps up a bit and clear the road--seems fond of one like, and
eager to give one a shove outer the block. But there; I ain't lived to
six-and-sixty year without having my own thoughts about religion and
that sort of thing. I know as we're all bad enough, and I s'pose a-top
of the hill there it will all be reckoned against one, and kep' account
on, good and bad. As I sez to Polly, after that chap had been here as
is so fond of hearing hisself speak, and allus calls me `my friend;'
`Polly,' I sez, `it's no manner of use; I ain't a-going to turn king's
evidence and try to shirk out of it that way: what I've done wrong will
go to the bad, and what I've done right I hope will go to the good,
while I'm sure no poor fellow could be more sorry than me for what's
amiss.' When we goes afore Him as judges up there, sir, it will all be
made light, and there won't be no feeling as justice ain't done. There
won't be no big fellows in gowns and wigs a-trying to swear a chap's
soul away--making a whole sarmon out of a word, and finding out things
as was never before thought on at all. I've been before 'em, and
examined and cross-examined, and twisted about till you don't know what
your a-saying of. And so, when I thinks of all this lying still in the
night, listening to the rumbling of the kebs--kebs as I shall never
drive no more; why, I feels comfortable and better like; don't seem to
see as it's so werry serious, as my number's been took, and I'm
summoned; `Done my dooty,' I says, `and kep' home together as well as I
could; and it would ha' been all the same if I'd ha' been born a dook, I
must ha' come to it same as I'm a-coming now.' Of course I should ha'
had a finer funeral; but there, lots of fellows as I knows on the rank,
chaps as is Foresters, they'll drive behind me with their windy-blines
down, and a little bit o' crape bow on the ends o' their whips; they'll
smoke it at night in their pipes, and take it werry much to 'art when
they thinks on it, and puts their blines right again--but mine won't
open no more now."
"Nigher I gets to the top of the hill," he says, "slower I goes; but
slow and sure I'm a-making way, and shall be there some time: not
to-day, p'raps, nor yet to-morrow, but some time afore long, for I knows
well enough how my number's been took, and my license is about gone.
Well, sir, I drove a cab thirty year, and it was never took away afore;
and so I ain't a-going to complain."
"Going, sir?" he says: "Then I'll take it as a favour, sir, if you'll
just see that young genelman--the parson as I likes, and ast him to
come. He left his card on the chimbley there for me to send for him
when I felt to want him, and he seems to be the real doctor for my
complaint. I was to send if I wanted him before he came again, and I'd
rather not see them others too. That first one helps me on a bit, and
somehow, I seem to want to be a-top of the hill now, and he's
first-class company for a pore chap on a dark road. Nothing like a real
friend when you're in trouble, and he seems one as will help."
"Good bye, sir," he says, werry softly. "The warnish is all rubbed off,
and the paint chipped and showing white and worn; the bottom's a-falling
out, and the head's going fast; so once more, sir, good bye, for the old
keb'll be broke up afore you comes again. Good bye, sir; you'll tell
him to come here, as told of mercy and hope."
And then some one stepped softly by me, and went down the creaking
stairs, and I got ready to go in; but, not feeling in a bit of a hurry,
for there was something seemed to stick in my throat, and I knew I
shouldn't be able to speak like a man when I got into the room, so I
stops outside a bit longer; and then, when I made sure as it was all
right with me once more, I steps softly in, and then stops short, when I
turned worse than ever; for there, kneeling down by his bed, was poor
Mrs Sizer sobbing, oh, so bitterly! and then I thought of how he said
he'd like to take her on the box with him. And there, you'll laugh, I
know, at calling it a beautiful sight to see them pore, plain,
weather-and-time-worn people taking like a last farewell of one another;
and it was no good; I daren't speak, but slowly and softly backed out,
thinking about the years them two had been together working up hill, up
hill always; and then it didn't seem so strange that, when one of these
old folks dies, the other goes into the long, deep sleep, to be with
him. And then a-going down the stairs softly and slowly, I says to
myself, "there's a deal o' rough crust and hard stuff caked over us, but
a pore man's heart's made of the real same material as God made those of
better folks of;" and Lord bless you, sir! use him well, and you'll find
the way to the heart of a cabby.
Poor Tom! he was a-top of the hill nex' day, and I never saw him again.
But he was a good sort, was Tom. Thanky sir, much obliged; merry
Christmas to you!